Of Wands and Kunai
by Womgi
Summary: A 7 year old Harry stumbles on a box of old Naruto manga. Inspired, he reaches deep within, using chakra to quickly become a phenomenal ninja. And thus begins a curious tale. Read and see how it ends! Read 1st chapter A/N
1. Chapter 1

My first fanfic!

Disclaimer : This is a declared FANFICTION. No money is being made here by me or anybody. Neither of the two universes are mine.

Number 4, Privet Drive

Harry Potter was an intelligent boy. Not the most unusual statement by any means. The thing was, nobody saw his intelligence, not his teachers, not his classmates and certainly not his "family". None of them had any inkling of the potential he had, the prodigy right beneath their noses, the intellect he refused to display, because Harry Potter hid his true self, cloaked it in averageness and disappeared from the inquisitive (read snoopy and gossipy) minds of the (lack of) humanity he dealt with daily. After all, he was certain that without these precautions his life was forfeit.

Seven years is not the best age for any human being to fight a war. Indeed, war is not meant for people of any age. But Harry _was_ fighting a war. Indeed, for him life was war. For Harry, every day was a battle for survival, a day by day affair, where every single day was spent with steadfast resolve, where a lack of broken bones was a cause for quiet celebration, and pain was the reminder that he was still alive.

And like all wars and battles, this one was fought against an enemy, an enemy who he shared a backyard and his home with, the ever accursed _Dursleys_. They treated him like the scum of the universe, quite literally in fact. He was their slave, their pet, some _thing_ for them to do whatever they wished, an unending nightmare enforced through the ever present threat of bodily harm, one which they frequently acted on. Harry hated them, all three of them, Whale senior, Whale junior and Horse face, as he humorlessly called them sometimes.

But those were not their true names of course, those of Vernon, Dudley and Petunia Dursley, his enemies from birth, the ever mocking nemesis, and the ones he would probably end up wiping from the face of the earth, if he could. Harry was not an idiot, irrespective of what his despicable relatives chose to believe. He knew that what they were doing was illegal, that their very actions were contrary to the 'normality' they tried so fanatically to maintain. But any authority figure he tried to tell only called up the Dursleys, who would reassure said authority figure with tales of juvenile delinquency and tale telling. And after the 5th time he had found himself with broken ribs, Harry simply stopped. One did not pursue actions that were detrimental to oneself, no matter how correctly it followed the 'proper' response to such actions. He also took to heart the subconscious lesson he had learned, the system could not be trusted. Not that it helped him of course, for predators are seldom deterred by unmoving prey.

Harry had long learned that the least painful way of living would be to lie low and stay average, letting the Dursleys forget he existed, a cloak of normality, one that let him be questionably safe. Well, outside of his slave labor or 'well deserved' punishments at any rate. It helped keep the broken bones at bay, a desirable condition, no matter how fast they tended to grow back or rather heal at astronomical speed. Harry had in fact begun to suspect that his body had simply begun to do it to prevent him from dying, something which was not too far off from the truth, all said and done.

Harry had learned quite early on that one of the surefire ways to get brutalized was to score better than Dudley. Any time he did so, Vernon would go into a red faced, spittle flying rage, screaming about freakishness and freaks, in episodes that eventually ended with broken bones. So Harry simply stopped doing better, going into a near extreme averageness, placing himself near the bottom of the class. It wasn't to say that Harry stopped learning of course. No, he simply stopped displaying exactly what he knew, preferring to hoard his knowledge and the true extent of his talents – the primary of which was the healing that he constantly utilized to keep his school attendance out of jeopardy.

Harry, like all the troubled people of the world, had a place he had to go. A place he went to whenever he could, because there was one person who treated him like family, or at least as one should. His name was Daniel Richards aka '_that old geezer_'. The people in school knew him as old man Richie. He was a second world war veteran, one of the men who survived Normandy, the Ardennes, and the innumerable villages that dotted the retreating German line of the era. He did not go to the pacific theater, nor the African one much before that. He had also been to India for a while, though it was only in passing. The rest of his unassuming life was spent in the same house a mile from the school, whose library was under his care.

Richards was a librarian. And a well traveled one, prone to telling stories, his own or that of others he'd heard. Stories of courage, valor, and the indomitable human spirit. He also told stories of sadness, of loss, the struggle to go on when all anyone else would do was curl up and cry, and stories of the evil men can do, the utter destruction of humanity, and the lengths that men go to because of greed and power. And he told these stories to one young man.

Harry loved Richards. Well, as much as he could love anyone after the what the Dursleys did to him. To him, Richards was not the old man who lost his marbles in Berlin, no, he was the connection to a greater world that existed,one beyond the ultra normal Dursleys and their petty worries, beyond Surrey, Dudley and even the 'normal' school they went to. It was his taste of the life that was there beyond the cupboard under the stairs.

Now, some may wonder what business anyone had telling a seven year old war stories that involved such weighty concepts. But the thing was, Harry appreciated it. Sure it didn't have the same punch as unicorns and fairies, but it was better than anything the Dursleys had done for him. Also he loved the man because even though he knew what was going on, he trusted Harry enough that he did not go to the authorities himself. If Harry said he had a vague and unspecified plan that would work in the end, that was that. Because, Richards _trusted_ his word. Consequently, this smidgen of irresponsible trust made him the only adult that Harry trusted on a personal level. And it was the most amazing feeling for the boy-who-lived-in-hell. To be treated seriously as an equal, to have your word accepted at face value, to be able to trust the man back, even if it was very hesitantly at first. It was a small thing. But verily, a truly powerful one.

And so the boy spent all the time he could in the library, in breaks and an hour after school. Not only did this give him a refuge from the world around him, it solved his 'Harry hunting' woes to a tremendous extent. Of course, all it took for the extra school time to be heartily approved was for Harry to glumly state that he had detention. The Dursleys promptly left him alone to celebrate.

Literally, they were partying with food they forced _him_ to make.

It was at the end of his seventh year, that Harry had his most life changing event yet. He had been working on organizing the books from a particular shelf when Richards swung over, motioning for him to follow the old man. It was after all, only a week to go for the end of the year, and there would be no opportunity at all for Harry to leave the cupboard for anything other than chores, food (meager as it was) and his occasional bathroom breaks (once a day). And considering that Richards really didn't want Harry to kill himself (or his _family_), he had decided to give the one kid he really liked a gift. Something simple. Something inconsequential. Something that then proceeded to warped the future beyond imagination.

It was a cardboard box. It was in the back of the library, amongst all the other junk that accumulates in a public school library from damaged and just plain destroyed books, old registers, lost items etc. The box itself was plain, a simple brownish cardboard construct, a foot high with a rectangular cross section. Richards smiled . He told Harry that this was his reward for keeping an old man company. In the box, were a bunch of comics, some plain, black and white, on not too yellowing pages, and written on each, was the word

NARUTO

A/N : slightly revised 30 Jan 2011

As stated, my first fan fiction. A HP X Naruto fiction that sprouted from my head. No doubt others have discovered this idea, but still, this one is mine.

For new and old readers, here are a few points to remember while reading...

The story starts in the vague time that is Harry turning seven. I'm a guy who believes the dates are less important than whatever happens in them.

The manga in the box does is not the complete set ie Harry doesn't get the whole story, just till somewhere near the middle or so.

The manga is not native to this dimension/universe/subspace pocket etc. ie there is no published manga called Naruto on the planet.

The 'HOW' as in how did it get there is not really going to be specified. Use your imagination people! It doesn't have to be just me who gets creative with what I write. Send (pm) me your theories and I'll put up the more interesting ones in the next chapter, with full credits, whichever it is. Same goes for any omakes you might have thought of. I myself am not an omake creator :(

Remember, the point is to have FUN! Reading _and_ writing! (especially reviews...hehe)

Ja Ne!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N : Hi all! Thank you for all the positive encouragement that my humble submission has generated! And with my thanks I give you my next chapter! Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: i don't own Harry Potter OR Naruto.

Harry Potter took the books home in three days, And the box itself, all folded up on the fourth. It was not that the books themselves were a huge weight, even if some would have said so, considering his frame or lack thereof. No it was more a question of sneaking them past the occasionally eagle eyed Dursleys. After all they would have no guilt attacks if anything that Harry called his own disappeared in flames, in pieces or into a black hole. They barely paid for his necessary school supplies as it was. Instead this was a smuggling operation where, his over sized clothing proved their worth for once. Richards was persuaded to and had stapled a few cloth bags on the inside of his clothes, where the bagginess just served to hide the fact that contraband was stowed away. After all, who would question the puffiness that came from his frayed cords wrapped over a shirt a couple sizes too large?

After he had safely secreted the whole crate of books, Harry had mentally expressed his unequivocal gratitude, that Whale Jr. was a barely disguised idiot, Horse face couldn't stand to look at him at all and finally that Whale Sr. went to his normal job and had drinks at a 'normal' pub and consequently came home at a "normal" time, by which time his cargo was safely unloaded. He also thanked Richards for his flashlight. Reading in the dark was one venture that he did not really fancy trying a hand.

The holiday was just like his previous ones. It was not much of a holiday at all. Yet again, Harry was expected to maintain professional levels of quality control in gardening, cooking, house painting and other chores. Being the first day, Petunia was quite smug as she happily watched over him struggling to complete a full seven hours worth of chores, with just a glass of water being given to him the whole day. Oh how Harry loathed those accursed Dursleys...

Unfortunately, this opening salvo, accompanied by the usual vitriol, ensured that Harry just fell asleep, praying that he would not die for want of water. No book, no matter how enthralling in its very possibilities could sway the overwhelming might that of sleep after a tiring day. The next morning, he woke with parched throat and sandpaper tongue. After his ritual curse on his relatives, he tiredly went on to do his chores for the day. He was very careful to do absolutely everything perfectly. Nothing would keep him away from his booty that day. Eventually, his hard days work ended with dinner, food that was barely enough to satiate a hamster. Harry was beginning to suspect that the Dursleys would just drop dead from the sheer amount of malice he was mentally directing at them. One could only hope.

XXX

Harry's first impressions of Richards gift were quite mixed. The whole 'problem' that existed in his head was because he already had an idea of what 'real' ninja were supposed to be. They were silent, swift and deadly assassins, not flamboyant weapons of mass destruction. It took a few days before he was finally able to get his head around how the ninja in Naruto functioned. But eventually the child in Harry finally managed to do the simplest thing any child ought be able to do, simply believe. And in that moment, the simple acceptance of stated fact nudged the power that lay dormant in him ever so slightly in a new direction. Indeed, it could be said history itself was rewritten, all because of the power of a child's belief in the impossible.

The first complete reading of what he had in his hands took two weeks of careful and covert activity. He read at night under the cover of the same moldy sheet of nastiness the Dursleys had passed off as his blanket. The small flashlight he had been given ensured that he was able to spend his nights in a much more productive fashion than cursing the Dursleys and imagining their bloody painful demise would possibly allow. There were a few close calls of course, like the time Vernon had sleepily poked his head in, attempting to see if his freakish nephew was up to no good. After that Harry began to regularly check his surroundings, attempting to divine if the Dursleys were astir. Needless to say, by the end of those two weeks, Harry was quite the paranoid fellow. Unfortunately, he was quite justified, because they really were out to get him.

After his initial disbelief, and subsequent "conversion", Harry's intelligent and inquisitive mind slowly began to churn out an understanding of what he was reading. He slowly built up an awareness of the mechanics of the Naruto universe, the way people thought, the elementary assumptions that everybody made about everyone else. He was slowly integrating the mindset of the 'proper' ninja of a hidden village. Of course, at this stage it was more of the childish enthusiasm for the whole thing, as evidenced by the swirly leaf designs he idly lightly carved in the remote corners of his...space.

That however was not the end of it. He had already made the connection to the parallels that existed between Harry and Naruto, that of orphans that were treated horribly by the very people they were entrusted to. Indeed, a certain perspective, the only real difference was the lack of a tailed beast in Harry's belly(he'd checked, thoroughly). They called one demon. They called the other freak. What was the difference anyway?

But that was not exactly the most earth shattering discovery he made. No, what was truly mind blowing was the correlation he made between Naruto's own healing and the one he exhibited. Both kicked in when the person involved was highly injured, and both were truly accelerated healing. Two days worth of thinking later, Harry finally began to wonder...

What if, what _he_ had was chakra. After all, when everything was said and done, the Dursleys were right about one thing - he had something uncommon, if not unnatural inside, and whatever it was that was healing him was just begging to be used.

With that question in mind, Harry decided that he just had to find his inner power. So, keeping in mind long forgotten methods for meditation, he attempted to see what he held within. And he failed is only so much a 7 year old could focus before his mind wanders to other things.

So in a sudden feat of misguided brilliance, that was in retrospect quite foolish, he decided that the best way to quickly find out what this power of his was to get hurt and watch it heal him. Perhaps now that he was actually looking for it, he would actually find it! It was a deaf, dumb and blind leap of faith, but unfortunately for our good friend, common sense had decided to take its own mandatory vacation that day.

Harry did not fancy cutting himself. It was just plain wrong; why hurt himself when there was enough and more of that from the Dursleys? So in another feat of misguided brilliance, he decided that if he was going to get hurt, he might as well do it in a way he was intimately familiar with.

XXX

The next morning, while Vernon was watching, Harry 'accidentally' scratched the car while washing it. It had been done in as accidental a manner as could be accomplished of course. No need to get killed over it after all.

Like clockwork, Vernon's face began to purple. His hands curled to fists and as Harry watched and prayed to some higher power that he wouldn't die that day, Vernon swung his arm. A good three hours later, Harry woke up from his unconscious state, mentally wondering exactly what had prompted him to attempt suicide. He tried to move himself in a practiced manner, trying to see exactly where he had been damaged. After the fifth fracture he found, he sighed and lay back, trying not to fall asleep while waiting for his "miracle" to happen.

By 5 pm, something did occur. Harry's wandering attention, which had been engaged in the half futile act of blocking out the admittedly immense pain while still staying awake, was snapped to focus when he literally felt his immobile, purple and swollen arm _creak_. It was so shocking that he yelped in surprise. The weird feeling continued,admittedly lessening the pain as arms, legs, ribs, his dislocated joints and other damage was slowly and painfully reversed. It took till 5 in the morning when Harry was finally in a state a normal human being might call 'functional'.

Harry was both jubilant and annoyed. On one hand his totally idiotic scheme had somehow pulled through and he finally knew the feeling of whatever inner power coursed through him. On the other hand his chores would begin too soon for him to get any more sleep. In other words, he would have to do that day's chores half asleep.

Of course, it was at this point that he realized that the Dursleys wouldn't call on him for a while yet, after all they had just finished trying to beat him into a coma, and trying to get the half dead kid that he had been mere hours before into public was just begging for trouble. So he decided to take the opportunity and slept, all the way till the next morning.

XXX

The next day, the Dursleys were treated to a very peculiar site – happy Harry. Now while normal kids spent most of their time laughing or crying (or in some cases pouting), Harry was known to them to be, peculiarly enough, in a perpetually blank emotional state. There was no rage, frustration or any of the 'normal' reactions to their heaped abuse. In fact that was one of the reasons the Durselys tried so bloody hard to get a reaction out of him. No matter what their end of the equation, a kid who doesn't get the least bothered when a grown man tries to kill him was 'freakish', at least, to them.

With that in mind, the horribly malicious glint in his eyes and the happy grin did not bode well for the Dursleys. Even Dudley could feel it. And for once, Vernon, who from Petunia's reluctant tales, knew exactly what a seriously annoyed wizard could do, felt the tentacles of fear slowly worm their way into the frigid crevices of his utterly inhuman heart. Even so, he could not let this pass. So he decided to ask the 'freak' exactly what the matter was.

"What happened to you, _boy_? Why are you so cheery all of a sudden? You wouldn't be doing something freakish now would you?!" Vernon huffed, mentally adding the unsaid, but understood 'after I walloped you so thoroughly not too long ago'.

Harry grinned even wider, unsettling Vernon even further. "Nothing at all Uncle Vernon. Nothing - at - all."

And he happily _twirled_ to the counter and flipped the bacon. Vernon decided not to pursue the matter. Not with his attention diverted by the bacon at any rate.

XXX

Harry spent the rest of the month happily experimenting with his new found ability. He literally had a brand new toy to play with. The first thing he did was of course to try and mold chakra, which contrary to his prior opinion, did take practice to get right. Then he did it while forming the 12 'standard' handseals he had gleaned from the books, and noted down his 'results'. Then he began to try doing the simplest and least chakra intensive discipline of them all, genjutsu.

It was not that genjutsu were easy to learn or do. It was just that Harry had confidence, determination and a quite literally a goal to die for. As a result, even though his handseals were not up to his childishly exaggerated expectations, and his genjutsu were literally sucking him dry, he persevered.

The funny part of course was that basic genjutsu were visual, because that was the most clearly used sense of the five. And differences in brain structure meant that it was not possible for him to trap animals with a blunt force genjutsu. That meant only one thing, Human Experimentation.

XXX

It was a poor time for Dudley. He had recently been the frequent subject of daytime nightmares. Sitting still one moment and dying in increasingly imaginative and horrifying ways the next. The Dursleys were so worried sick that, in an ironic twist of fate, they forgot to blame the one person who was actually responsible.

But even when Harry eventually tired of his little game, he could honestly say that it was the single most satisfying thing he had ever done. However he decided to stay his real vengeance for a later date, when he could do much more imaginative things with chakra. After all, didn't someone say that revenge was a dish best served cold?

As the new month began, in the cupboard under the stairs, Harry James Potter began to smirk maniacally, the promise of death dancing in his eerily glowing green eyes.

A/N : another chapter done. My updates are likely to be a bit irregular so don't fret if I don't post on time. Anyway, thanks for reading and as always,

Please Review!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N : thanks for the reviews! All are appreciated and gratefully accepted. Thank you for the support!

Disclaimer: i don't own Harry Potter OR Naruto.

For perhaps the first time in his living memory, Harry Potter felt a sheer joy in being alive. It was a curious sensation, to be unencumbered by all the messes and petty problems that the people around him were plagued with. he was above them all. Literally, he was lying on the top of a really tall tree in the little park that was once his refuge from his "family". It was wonderful really, to watch the clouds and relax, taking in the moonlight and the ever present, soothing wind. One could almost feel the whispered secrets of ages past floating by your ear, just out of reach.

Harry had taken his life in a much more positive sense after his unorthodox discovery of chakra. He maintained a constant, maniacal gleam in his eyes that had managed to subdue the Dursleys, if for a little while. It was fascinating, how suddenly becoming very very confident in yourself drove his tormentors to doubt themselves. After all, insulting and demeaning someone only really works, if the object of that treatment subconsciously at least considers the possibility that those words are true. if not well, it would be like insulting somebody in another language.

In Harry's case, he had absolutely no fear of the Dursleys anymore, and he was absolutely certain they were worthless little humans. They were just mindless idiots who really needed to get rid of their 'normal' fetish. He sometimes wondered if Petunia really was his aunt. Even if he ignored the 'love thy family' aspect of relatives, surely somebody like _her _could not possibly be related to him.

All questions about his family were brushed away when the moon once more reappeared as a cloud was swept away. It was a fascinating sight. At 2 in the morning, he could just make out the details of the moons crater riddled surface. He suddenly wished he had a telescope, or at least some kind of jutsu that served a similar purpose. For some odd reason, he really wanted to take a closer look at the moon and the stars. It was a singular feeling, one that he had never felt before. But it could wait. After all, even if chakra let him get out of the cupboard at night, he still need some sleep if he wanted to concentrate (albeit on his own 'studies') in class. He definitely did not wish to sleepwalk his way through school.

And so Harry pulled himself from his childish fascination of the moon and the stars to go home, a fascination that was perhaps fostered under the loving care of the Dursleys, and his resultant love of all spaces large and wide open. And what is space, but the widest of them all?

XXX

Harry of course was not an all knowing child. It was regrettable, but true. It was also the only reason he developed what the people from his beloved manga defined as a chakra core. For when he began all he had was magic. This was actually what Harry felt and observed during his recovery from his rather ill conceived plan to find if he had chakra. Of course, magic in its raw state was not chakra, and would not do the things that Harry "knew" chakra could do. After all, chakra was the very force of life, all encompassing, and deeply linked to the elements. Magic on the other hand was change, plain and simple. It was also everywhere, but did not have the delicacy that chakra had. No, magic was the force that changed anything it touched with force and subtlety of a sledgehammer. It could turn anything into anything else (within limits) and even create life out of raw energy or matter. So when Harry suddenly believed, in the absolute manner that only the young mind was capable of, his magic reacted in what some might call accidental magic. It gave him a new power, independent of his magic, but was created by it. It was just a spark of course, but as the boy began to manipulate his energies with his genjutsu attempts, his magic began to expand the chakra system, feeding it, until one fine day, both chakra and magic coexisted independently in a young boy. Such was the power of belief on magic. The rather hilarious thing was that if the Dursleys hadn't driven it into his subconscious that there was no such thing as magic (a concept he would later disabuse himself of) he wouldn't have managed to spark a chakra core into existence. Otherwise, his latent memories of childhood would have eventually and unconsciously supplied the concepts his real parents lived on and talked around him about when he still lived with them. Magic worked in weird ways after all.

But in the end, he was wielding chakra – true chakra, as he knew it. And it was fun to play with it. He spent hours climbing trees in the remote corners of the park (funny how they let him out after chores now) until he could safely walk up and down walls. He had also managed to get a hang of what some might call tree hopping. Surrey looked very difficult when you were traveling via rooftops. And the wind was not something he really wanted to miss.

But the most important little skill he was capable of, was lock picking. It was not difficult theoretically. You infused the mechanism with chakra, and then using the chakra inside, moved the tumblers to exactly the right position. He was getting quite good at it too, at least with the new locks that Vernon had put up at the beginning of the vacation. Of course, he swore not to use it for nefarious purposes – crime was not a road he really wanted to go down, even if his moral compass was a bit off after what he'd seen the Dursleys get away with - and child abuse was definitely up there in the horrible crimes list.

He'd not really tried to do any elemental jutsu, content to prank the Dursleys with genjutsu. It was really a question of having an understanding of what you wanted somebody to experience that determined the effectiveness of his illusions. Consequently, taste was the only difficult thing to stimulate, as Harry had not really eaten much other than leftovers till now. There was no doubt that without his healing ability he would have died, period. But in any case, there was definitely some amusement in making the Dursleys think that their room had a dead body in it, or that Dudley's hair had started to gray or even that Petunias face, dutifully caked with makeup had a giant mole that appeared to move every day. Once he managed to anchor the genjutsu to an object or person, he would really have fun. But alas, he had not developed the raw control necessary to do something of that caliber. He would need to find some open water soon, or at least a bathtub for his attempts at water walking. Eventually, he would settle on the closest public swimming pool, which was near the school.

Soon Harry was becoming quite well versed in the use of his quite inventive imagination in creating new, more subtle genjutsu on the Dursleys, things like smoke, fire, wet floors and stuff, simple and realistic reasons to get people to stay away from somewhere, as opposed to a giant Chinese dragon chasing after you, which, without the level of impressive detail that only years of practice and focus would take, nobody above ten would believe was real, even with that level of detail. Of course, it also lead to some rather hilarious incidents involving the fire department, which definitely disturbed any notion the neighbors had of their normality.

Petunia was left tearing her hair out, at the locally generated gossip that was beginning to head towards the conclusion that Vernon had either developed some mental disorder or that he was attempting to draw attention to himself for some unknown reason. Harry was quite amused when he found a little piece in the newspaper that pointed to a false alarm being given to the Surrey fire department.

XXX

July 31 was a date Harry did not particularly care about. This despite the fact that, 1. He was eight years old, 2. It was his birthday, 3. Eight year old kids love birthdays.

However, since his ever _affectionate _relatives preferred to celebrate his birthdays with even less joy than funerals, specifically with more work, he had not given cause to remind them either, by the simple means of showing not even a twitch out of place to any other day. Of course, internally he was reviewing exactly where his life had gone wrong, that he had to pretend his birthday never existed, a quite abnormal situation in an ultra normal home.

In the meantime, Harry quietly reminded himself that ninja were supposed to be emotionless uncaring assassins who did not let small childish things like the absence of birthday celebrations because of relatives who deserved to be bijuu fodder distract him from his life's greater purpose. Well, maybe not in so many words, but still.

One thing that he did do was find a rather disturbing fact about himself. He looked awful. It was true. A few weeks and immense gains in his ability to wield chakra simply did not translate to a change from the scrawny malnutrition afflicted skeleton that his body so disturbingly resembled underneath Dudley'ss cast offs. Even if he was now looking a lot better, thanks to his recently begun practice of buying take out with Vernons "misplaced"cash(which Harry felt he might as well be owed due to all his slave labor) his overall physical condition had not changed much from the beginning of the summer. And now that he was finally paying attention to his appearance, which his mantra of 'unseen and unknown' had driven clean out of his head, he was quite annoyed that he looked somewhat like the same concentration camp victims Richards had described with such horrified fascination. Harry was suddenly bombarded with the image of Vernon wearing an SS officer's uniform. Not exactly the prettiest of sights as anybody who knew the man would tell you. Even if it was oddly fitting.

Of course, such thoughts inevitably spiraled to the thought of what he _should _look like. It was a thought that deserved more thought, as Harry's newly-aged-by-one mind supplied helpfully. He strove to be ninja, so what did a real ninja look like? Indeed, what effect would he even attempt to achieve? The harmless fellow? The most intimidating person any had ever seen? Or the shadow that nobody in their right minds would ever believe they had seen? It was a thought for tomorrow. Maybe he could brainstorm with Richards. The thought of which went into an even more quirky direction. Just what would he tell Richards?

Harry as a rule trusted no adults. The exception of course was his librarian friend. But would that trust, built up over a year of mostly silent conversation necessitate that he tell the old man what his greatest secret was? Indeed, would he mention anything beyond reading the most important set of books he had read in his life? It was a struggle of the heart, something Harry understood subconsciously, yet could not bring himself to face. It took an hour, but eventually he decided. His friend/family/mentor, the aged veteran of the second world war, the great Daniel Richards, would be kept in the dark, even if it made him feel slightly guilty. It was the shinobi thing to do, and his first great secret, one he would have to carry for the rest of his life. Harry firmly turned his mind away from this train of thought. His roving mind, in desperate search of distraction, landed on a another problem, weapons.

Harry, for the second time that day, felt a pit in his gut, a feeling of horror as he realized that he had no ninja gear to speak of. No shuriken, kunai and nothing that could compare to a real sword, unless he counted his experience with the knives he used to chop vegetables. Harry literally began to bang his head on the wall, which was not the wisest thing to do in retrospect.

"What's that racket boy!" Petunia's high pitched, if strangled voice carried from the kitchen, startling the wannabe ninja from his bout of self imposed punishment.

"Nothing Aunt Petunia! Just a spider!" he answered, keeping a disinterested tone in his voice, adding one final whack for good measure.

"It's gone now!" he said, hoping that would be the end of that. Making the Dursleys think of him on his birthday was always a very bad idea. So when Petunia finally shouted one last time, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Chakra or not, some cans were best left unopened.

XXX

Later, Harry sneaked out to the garage and began throwing nails into a wooden plank. It was an experiment, a very lousy experiment, but in 5 minutes he had figured some important stuff out. For one, he did not seem to be able to do the normal spinning throw that a traditional knife thrower would use. The nails simply refused to some much as twitch in any direction they were not pointed. They just went like straight like a bullet. no tumbling no wobbling and definitely no turning end over end

Also, he was capable of applying a lot of force to the measly iron nails, such that they unfailingly hit the board with a solid 'thunk' sound each time, leading him to conclude that his subconscious was responsible for this admittedly weird occurrence.

And the last thing he found, which he found was quite depressing, was the fact that his aim simply sucked. With his conventional throws, he missed at horribly at a 5 feet distance that he was practicing from. It was quite annoying. His makeshift projectiles simply refused to go within the one inch diameter circle he had marked out as his bull's eye on the arbitrarily chosen plank. After an hour with only slightly changing results, he called it a day – before Vernon would come home and get on his case.

Besides, he was not supposed to have even come outside of his cupboard after his chores. Some things were not worth fighting for, and in the grand scheme of things patience was the better path, or so Harry kept telling himself. His need to get a sword could wait. He was quite skilled for a gennin already, he could wait, besides, his incredible rate of progress had to mean something. So like his wish to learn Japanese, it could wait. If only the waiting wasn't so damn annoying!

XXX

The days passed slowly after that, drowning Harry in boredom's nefarious waters. There was only so much stuff one could do in his position without openly declaring his ability to do 'stuff'. It was quite amazing that in spite of the prodigy like quality like qualities he had, his attention span at times was woefully lacking. Something that was haunting him every single minute he spent these days.

There was one little thing that he really wanted to try, and that was a shadow clone, which unfortunately for him, stayed true to its counterpart in the manga by being very very chakra intensive. By the end of the vacation he ended up fainting eight times in eight attempts over the last two weeks. He seriously need to increase his reserves if he wanted to even think about trying that again.

If ever in his life Harry was truly frustrated, it was now. And he had been dreaming quite a bit of the all things he could do after leaving a shadow clone to take his place at the Dursleys. Why he could even spend all day training while his clone took care of his chores, which the Dursleys had very slightly decreased the difficulty of, as the days went by. It was like they were subconsciously realizing that he could not be pushed as far as they used to be able to. Or it could be that they had become more concerned about Petunias _freakish _mole and Dudley's _unnatural _early graying to worry about keeping his chores right up there with slave labor. In some ways, life was good.

XXX

The last day of holidays before school was always, quite the event. Kids screamed, parents teared up (and not always for the same reasons) and teachers let out weary sighs. Dudley was a normal kid. Harry was not. So while Dudley was quite content to be wailing that he couldn't spend all his time with his parents, which is always an admirably sneaky and heart rending tactic, Harry spent his day sewing up his clothes in peace. Whatever be the state of tomorrow, he was going to face it with more tight fitting clothes than last year. Even if it was really just bunching sections of cloth together to fit his form better, it felt quite good that he was finally taking back control of his life, his real life, outside the Dursleys and in the endless freedom that was the outside world. Yes, things were going to change this year, even if it wasn't in the confines of Number 4 Privet Drive.

Oh, it wasn't going to be easy, and he was going to be working a hell of a lot more than he ever had done before, but he was determined, and often raw determination is where it counts. As he fell asleep, Harry James Potter, slept with dreams of the remembered past, the wonderful present, and the promise of things to come.

A/N : another chapter! Huzzah! Its a wonderful feeling to set an idea into reality. And even more to see that people like it. Thank you all for reading and reviewing! And I hope you will keep doing so for the future to come!

Womgi


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I am still in no way in possession of the ownership of the media franchises Harry Potter and Naruto. So much for birthday wishes

School was boring.

There was no other word that fit the feeling that the very idea of school now engendered in Harry James Potter. It was a rather odd feeling to know exactly what the teacher was taking pains to convince the rest of his classmates to study. Yet he had no real opportunity or the inclination to demonstrate that he had already mastered these (to him) petty topics. He would have cursed at Richards, who was the one who had convinced him to read ahead and use his burgeoning intellect at _his_ own quicker pace. On the other hand, Richards _was_ feeding his newly burgeoning appetite for higher knowledge. And that too with books and ideas that he had never even imagined existed. It literally was a whole new world.

Not that it made up for the horrible, horrible school. Even if ninja were supposed to be patient fellows, sitting in a class of people who were starting to literally turn into drool monkeys was doing him no good at all.

Harry in a definitive way could claim an average eleven year old's knowledge. And despite frequent sensationalist reports of child prodigies, Harry knew quite well that in the overall grade of human potential, smarts like his were very very rare. In the 2 weeks that had passed since his return to school, he had found that simply trying was more than enough to further increase the distance between him and the rest of the human sheep he spent his day with. It was not a very encouraging thought - for the rest of humanity at least.

The sciences were fascinating, after all, learning to use the world around you was a very important skill for a ninja, and understanding how the world works gives you quite a head start in that department. Language of course, he was cultivating at his own pace. After all, people listen when somebody speaks well. And in the world of today, English was very very widespread. Art was something he had a very moderate interest in. His abundance of practice in the garden had, out of necessity given him an extremely steady hand, one that if he set his mind to it, he could use with great effect to make his vision to reality. Unfortunately, his actually not bad pieces of art were the ones done at home and shown to Richards and Richards alone. Simply the way the art teacher looked at him told him that her mind and soul were infected with the plague of 'Harry hating' the Dursleys loved to spread.

Seriously, the amount of influence his so called normal relatives seemed to wield made him question for a second if the Dursleys had high level connections to some crime syndicate or the sort. Then again, if they did, they'd get minions to make his life a living hell(which it technically already was).

Whatever the case, Harry was quite convinced that all of Surrey was convinced of the quality of juvenile delinquency present in 'That Potter boy'. He could see it in the way everyone who was considered sane seemed determined not to see him, hear him or acknowledge his existence. Those little glares, the ever present hint of disapproval and the slightly upturned noses that everyone who deigned to speak to him had. Only his newly practiced observation skills allowed him to be aware of the full scale of the negativity that was directed at him. Pitiful fools, all of them...

While normally this sort of thing might have broken the victim eventually, reducing all of his newfound spine to jelly, Harry dealt with it by reminding himself that he could drive the Dursleys insane with genjutsu anytime he chose. It was quite an effective image, certainly it made him sneer at the stupidity of these people who thought themselves above him and his existence. But now when he thought about it, it certainly suited him. While being branded a criminal was rather annoying, it served to distance people from him, and whatever said and done, if the only thing anyone could say about him was that he was _supposed_ to be a juvenile delinquent, even a Surrey based police officer would be unimpressed. Anonymity, even if negative was, especially for ninja, is quite a valuable thing to have. and in this manner, he wasn't forced to hide behind a facade of politeness, hiding his skill and intention all Kabuto like.

The trend of 'ignore Harry Potter' behavior was best seen in the teachers. All day, he sat at the back, with no fear of any interruption to his activities whatsoever. They came in, sat down and did their other stuff normally. When it came to roll call, the teachers skipped over his name. Instead, they chose to look at him from the corner of their eyes, as if to confirm that the abomination they simply could not eliminate had indeed dirtied their esteemed class by his very presence.

It was so amusing now, when he thought about it. For a while, it had contributed to a growing resentment when he first started school. But now, it was buried in the certainty that he was better than them by simply choosing not to exact his revenge upon these self deemed superior human beings, in spite of his clear ability to do so.

Since nothing he did was going to change what happened around or to him, Harry decided had decided that he might as well make use of this _behavior._ Last year, he had only dared to read ahead in the same academic topics and areas that were taught in school. Granted, it was giving him the equivalent of a full 3 years head start on his classmates in his studies. Something, which at the moment was quite useless, but there were now so many things he just had to learn. Things so wonderful, that meekly trying not to avoid everyone was going to get him nowhere. So he decided that if he was going to take advantage of this constant apathy, he would use it in the most effective way possible.

If his teachers had bothered to look at him during class, they would have found him doing a very curious thing, even for a juvenile delinquent, who as a rule are quite fond of doing distinctly odd things. Harry Potter was learning Japanese.

Now, even Harry was quite convinced that this was something he just had to do, but he had this very vague idea in his head that it would be useful, if for nothing else than to give insight into the land where ninja originated. He also told himself that having a second language was nothing if not a useful skill to have. If nothing else, he could find work as a translator, even if that was somewhere below _Politician_ in his list of possible future occupations. The list did not have child superhero on it.

Of course, learning a foreign language that very few people in the British isles had any use of in a regular manner was not the only thing that Harry did. He also spent a great deal of time trying to improve his genjutsu. Not to say that the illusions he crafted were in any manner unsound. It was just that they, in his own words, 'took too bloody long to do'. The problem was a bit curious. Harry was quite proficient in the use of handseals. He understood how any particular seal affected the molding of chakra. However, the handseals, he had noted, tended to have more pronounced effects in certain 'chains' which, when focused on, drastically improved the rate of formation and the strictness of 'boundaries' of his chakra matrices. This in turn meant that his various illusions, which were differentiated by their complexities in presentation to the various senses, all had their own handseal shortcuts that were quite fixed, even if he did not know of them.

Handseals, in genjutsu, were used to affect the amount and potency of the chakra used to manipulate each particular sense. With practice and instinct, it was possible to eliminate these various 'stages' in the genjutsu construction and directly apply the matrix on the target without prefabricating it from within – using handseals. Harry however, was developing the whole field of genjutsu from scratch. His handseals had very minute effects on his matrices individually because of his lack of prior instruction that would have reduced his dependance on pathetic experimentation. His prized annoyance tactic of putting a mole on his aunts face, took a solid twenty seven handseals to first materialize. Setting Vernon on fire took just over a hundred.

It was like having to invent flour so that he could invent the pie. Of course, as far as he had advanced right now, the same level of illusion of the mole would not need handsigns and the fire used 6, which was what experimentation brought in terms of results. But it was not the most combat useful ability at the moment. On the other hand, he could convince Vernon to parade naked if he wanted to in five minutes, once he figured out the chain of illusions necessary. His hope was that since his chakra usage was focused only on the illusory arts, he would develop the skill to avoid handseals and use focus points instead, like a potential expert could do. However he knew that even if he mastered it to the best of _his_ ability, he would need at the very least a ram seal to use illusions. It was simply unlikely that he could use the tip of the finger or eye to eye contact as a way of implanting illusions. He was not Uchiha Itachi. And as for material, after what the Dursleys had done to him and his resulting nightmares, he really had no need to find material to use on his victims.

Of course, when he realized that he would have to do the whole process again for elemental ninjutsu, specifically the elemental part, he nearly had a conniption. Truly, the life of the shinobi was fraught with peril. Not to mention, he had no idea exactly how he was going to make any progress in fuinjutsu. Yet again, Harry Potter screamed in mental agony at the thought of the intellectual undertaking he had signed himself up for.

XXX

Could he kill his relatives? The question unexpectedly crept upon Harry as he read the side note that mentioned another meaning of the Japanese equivalent of the number four. 'Shi' after all also meant death. Death, was quite a weighty concept. It was a mild thought, in a tone almost as routine as a stray thought about wallpaper or the color of the sky. It was almost simply too mundane to bother with. Harry rolled the word in his mouth, watching attentively in subdued fascination as the word seemed to lose all meaning, turning into syllables, as meaningless to him as the sound of somebody snoring. It was quite frankly, disturbing. For a long time, that word, along with one, namely other seemed to define his existence, and his future.

Death was the end, a cessation of existence, and nothingness, all rolled to one. It was as necessary to any ecosystem as the concept of zero was to mathematics. With death came rebirth, and the renewal of all things. It was also one of the most feared things in human history.

Everybody feared dying, with almost zero exception. The the fear of the transition from the living to dead is something that is permanently written in stone inside every living organism. No being tries to die for no reason; survival instinct is quite the motivator. What few realize is that the oft quoted, and horribly clichéd saying 'there are worse things than death' is quite true. Pain, is a terrible thing. It twists, ravages and destroys without mercy. Torture is the judicious application of it in methodical means, to achieve an objective, no matter what it is. In this sense, one would readily say that Harry was tortured, spending many a night in the silent agony of pure pain at an age that most would consider too young. But it also taught him one thing. Death was not something to fear. It was merely the end to all suffering. But could he kill someone? Anyone? Even in self defense? With the full implications that taking a life, denying another their right to existence entailed?

This train of thought eventually spiraled back to the one important question: could he kill his relatives?

This question, at first glance is wrong on many a level. No eight year old should be engaged in the contemplation of death, especially when it is to be dealt to others. On the other hand, he was, quite frankly an extremely wronged individual who the very gods might forgive, if he indulged in retribution. Which itself brought to question the competency of the Dursleys as examples of _homo sapiens_, but that was a query sans reply.

But the problem was that Harry essentially did not want to be a bad person. It was an ideal drilled into every human being in a 'civilized' world. There was an instinctive desire to do the right thing that battled with his desire to unleash unspeakable tortures upon those who wronged him. But ninja did not pursue vengeance. And the remembrance of the word 'Uchiha' rang true as an example of an avenger gone awry. And some emotions were too dangerous to let live. It was all too much to think about at this age. Harry finally decided to let it go for now and think about it when the Dursleys tried their old tricks again. After all, when one had a mean streak like Vernon Dursley, it would be simply too much to expect this ceasefire of sorts to continue.

XXX

The year on the whole could have been considered quite...useless. However, Harry spent most of his time trying (and for the most part succeeding) to increase his latent shinobi abilities, while letting his 'normal' academics plummet. The Dursleys were happy, Harry was happy, Richards was most definitely...confused. All year Harry had drastically changed. And whenever he asked the eight year old what had changed, he got the very short and loaded answer - "I found what I want to do with the rest of my life". It said everything and nothing, so he let it go. On the other hand, the very books the boy had requested, in the most polite and respectful tone possible ('when did he learn that?') told him something (he hoped) of what the boy was learning and consequently what he was eventually aiming for. The Japanese language manuals were a surprise. Certainly, he would have remembered if Harry had previously mentioned an interest in that language. It was quite disconcerting, at least until he remembered the books that he had gifted. Not that it made anything easier, but it gave him a lead, a connection, that hidden as it was gave him somewhere to start from. Of course, that generated more questions than answers. The manga, as he learned that particular style of comic was called, was popular mainly in Japan. But there was no sign of one called Naruto anywhere. It simply didn't exist. He'd even called up his son, who _was_ in Japan, an electronics engineer, who promptly confirmed the non-existence of said entity. It was frustrating. And where the hell did the books come from then? And the sad part was that he didn't remember how the box of accursed comics got in his library to begin with. It was enough to make one lose what little hair they had.

Harry of course knew none of the internal turmoil his mentor was going through. He merely focused on his genjutsu, his Japanese, and his (limited) projectile throwing ability. He was glad with his progress, even if all he could really do was make people see stuff, which was useless unless you knew what motivated people-something he needed a wee bit more experience doing. But he couldn't deny the usefulness of said ability, limited as it was at present.

Then, one day late November, Harry suddenly had an epiphany. He had been thinking of the possible 'coolness' factor of dressing himself as ANBU when he had the annoying revelation that his glasses were quite detrimental to his putting on any kind of animal mask. Sure he had the whole Kabuto thing going for him, but that was just plain weird in the end.

His next thought was why he couldn't just get rid of his glasses, at which his ever helpful intelligence reminded him that he was to a small, but definite extent myopic. His laments of biblical proportions were cut short when he suddenly and violently remembered that he had a very useful healing ability. And healing ability meant it could heal almost anything...right?

So the last Sunday of November, the 27th, was spent in his room brainstorming on exactly how he was supposed to achieve his rather lofty goal. It did not help that the cupboard under the stairs was a very cramped space. His first and immediate thought was to gouge his eyes and let the healing factor take care of his eyes. He discarded it on the likely probability that the newly grown eyes would be accompanied by the very same flaws his eyes previously suffered from, namely his shortsightedness. It is quite telling of his upbringing and mentality that he didn't consider the horrifying pain of having your eyeballs destroyed or plucked out as a serious problem.

So he reluctantly made up his mind to try meditation. After all the immense focus that was necessary to create the more intricate of his illusions had to help him here, or at least he most certainly hoped so.

So, in his attempt to resolve his vision issues, he took his trusty flashlight to illuminate a section of the cramped wall and then painted the out kanji for the closest approximation of the phrase 'perfect eye' he could remember. It was what he was aiming for after all.

In another 2 hours, his relentless stare marathon at the Japanese kanji paid off. The tingling feeling that he had long memorized and recalled as his personal healing factor had come and gone and he finally took in the rest of the room. Cramped as it was, he could see it. And he wasn't wearing any eye wear. He was elated. A mental victory dance later, he decided that he had to find a way to get plain lenses on his old frames. It would not do for him to miraculously develop perfect vision. It would be downright disastrous, in spite of his inability to pinpoint exactly why it would be so apocalyptic. But, his instincts were quite accurate so far and Harry was not above acting on a mere hunch. He left his room to find the closest establishment that could cater to his needs, relying on his arsenal of genjutsu and 20 quid that Vernon had been conveniently relieved of. He left Privet Drive totally ignorant of the fact that his retinas were now imprinted with kanji, the same set that he had been conveniently staring at for a whole couple hours.

XXX

At the same time in London, another man was on his way for his own all important errand.

Takeda was a negotiator. His job was to talk with very powerful people and ensure that both his and the other parties walked away with a smile and absolutely no bloodshed. The fact that he was 56 proved that he was very good at his job. It meant he never failed, a very endearing trait his superior valued in him. And thus it was that he had been sent to the British isles of all places, to negotiate with some pseudo noble that apparently held the keys to his organizations success here.

Takeda was a simple man. He had reached the age where he had picked one vice and stuck to it, to the detriment of all others. His activity of choice was reading, something he spent nearly all his free time in. It was also a great help to his occupation, as had been proved so many times in the past. This was his first trip outside the eastern territories and Takeda found himself distinctly...unimpressed. As far as he was concerned, the whole place was dead.

Not only was the whole area distinctly lacking in any real heritage and culture (in his humble opinion), the whole place made him feel...unclean. But he kept such thoughts to himself. He was the envoy that had been sent here by Hakumei, and he did not intend to let a couple of uneasy feelings deter him from his duty. The consequences of failure were...unpleasant, to say the least. So he shoved his opinions and his growing irritation with the location of this mission out of his consciousness. His first stop would be the Japanese embassy. It was there that his next stage of transportation to his destination would be found. Honestly, these British people amazed him with their stupidity. Their refusal to use modern forms of transport was rather annoying. Why did he have to take a kami forsaken portkey (" those accursed trinkets!") of all things just to get to this...Malfoy Manor? For the first time in quite a while, Takeda found himself muttering.

"Mendokuse..."

A/N: and the fourth chapter is here! First contact with the magical world, and shadowy organizations...what do you think? Reviews please! After all they are the bread and butter of the lone fanfic writer(thats me by the way...). And I like hearing the thoughts of those who (I assume) enjoy my work.

Btw, I'd like your thoughts on exactly what Harry's elemental affinity/bloodline will be. My plot gives me some license in the nature of my protagonists abilities, so I believe an unofficial poll of sorts will be a good idea here. Since this is manga restricted, I can't technically magic shippuden bloodlines or the sort in here. I prefer elemental bloodlines if at all requested. I just have an axe to grind against canon doujutsu and other physical body types(sorry!) review or pm requests. The final choice will be by popular demand. I'll accept requests for 2 weeks from the date of publishing.

ps. I'm really concerned by the distinct lack of negative reviews in here. Either I'm doing something really right or something very very wrong. I'm almost afraid to wonder about that, but I'd like to thank your support, all of it. It gives me a bubbly feeling and justifies my invested time. So thank you all very much!

ARIGATO!

yours

Womgi


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter. Would be interesting enough if I did though.

A/N: sorry for the delay...had to study for my sem exams...engineering can be troublesome, as my imaginary friend Shikamaru would say. But, I've tried to make up for the wait. May still be a bit crappy...did rush a bit after all.

XXX

Malfoy Manor when first seen, always left an impression. And what a powerful impression indeed. To those who fancied themselves inclined to the light, it was a dark and foreboding place, that gave of an aura of sheer power that ensnared the senses, impressing upon all mortals that dared to pass through its boundaries of the magical might that permeated the building. It presented a terrible visage, but nobody would deny that it was a calculated one, an advertisement of the might its inhabitants wielded, and a very effective one at that. Indeed, not even the great Albus Dumbledore could claim immunity from its terrifying charms, and he hadn't even entered the accursed building.

To the wizards and witches who imagined themselves dark though, it was a monument. The dark arts, the forbidden fruit of the ages, black chapters in the admittedly great book that was magic, seemed to call this area home. To them, the building was an engine of malevolence, a gallery of madness, a mausoleum that proclaimed the power and the temptations these practices entailed. And to the lesser mortal, it would have seemed the Malfoys had tamed it, gods above those foolish men who attempted to tinker with the abyss...for how else could they reside in such pure unadulterated evil? But all remembered the tingly feeling, the pins and needles, the rather weird sensation that very few knew to be the ambient aura of the wards which through generations of Malfoys had absorbed the residual magic that could only have come from uncounted uses of the forbidden, the unforgivables three. It was a fortress of malice, a bastion of darkness, one which had a life, all of its own.

However it has to be that every rule had an exception and on one particular day, in late November, Takeda of the Snow, walked through the wards of Malfoy Manor feeling particularly disappointed. If Mr Malfoy had been hoping to impress, he had failed abysmally. This aura of malice had nothing on the towers of the Black Magi guild that lived...somewhere in the southernmost parts of China. They could reduce armies to quivering messes merely through a single malevolent glance. And after talking civilly with _them_ of all people, Takeda had been pleasantly surprised to find that nothing else held any sort of sway over him. It was as if he was immune to these lesser fears that plagued humanity. A welcome gift to any good negotiator.

Takeda took his seat, keeping the disinterested facade his profession demanded of him. It did not matter that for once, he was not expected to wrangle, or that he was merely a messenger, albeit a highly valued one. One did not survive this long by relaxing in a possibly hostile situation, remote as it was. So instead, he spent his time pondering the mysteries of the miserable creatures known as house elves. While he admitted that they were powerful if prodded, their total subservience to this bigoted section of humanity unnerved him. Every race had its pride, and the concept that these creatures served another with such absolute loyalty generated a plethora of feelings, the most prominent of which was pity.

A house elf bowed low, announcing his master, Lord Lucius Malfoy, and popped away. The man himself, walked in with his elegant (at least to pureblood tastes) black robes and a wooden cane. From the intelligence Hakumei had on him, Takeda knew that this was where his wand was, something he would keep in mind for if things turned unpleasant. He also noted that the man in front of him exuded arrogance, a byproduct of his upbringing. He also seemed to find this meeting distasteful, something his body language _almost_ managed to hide. 'Interesting' Takeda mused, 'He no doubt categorizes me with the fools he associates with on a daily basis. Obviously he has no experiences outside these paltry Isles...Why can't I be reading instead of dealing with this menace? Why I could be resolving the scrolls of the lost arts! The tomes of the first sorcerer! And I do not even _have_ to negotiate for anything this time. Its infuriating!''

The meeting was started in typical fashion, with tea. Of course, the Malfoys did not stock any variety of green tea, meaning Takeda was once again forced to quaff the viler version of that beverage derived from Camellia Sinensis, tea with milk. Not that he'd ever admit that he hated said drink; he was a diplomat after all.

Lucius observed his counterpart across the table with a tinge of curiosity. In all his years, he'd never actually met somebody from the eastern territories proper. The surplus of warlocks and sorcerers that resided there were content to sit in their somewhat alien lands. No Malfoy would ever deign to go to the eastern territories; it was simply not a proper thing to do. And to top it off, nobody in the British Isles really knew how to go about talking to a eastern sorcerer. Even the department of international co-operation did not have a true idea of what was going on 'over there'. Rumors were whispered about an immortal emperor, who lived in service to his people. Then again, the Forbidden City was quite well sealed, so it could be just that, a rumor.

The man himself was quite imposing, in spite of his shorter stature. In his ornate purple robes, he looked the very picture of restrained power, even if it was more a feeling than a sight. The eastern man held himself with dignity and an aura of overwhelming might seemed to envelope him. Lucius would have even have dared to say that the dark lord himself was less imposing than this alien man who was drinking tea with him in his living room. Malfoy had of course labored to hear at least some of the various rumors that floated around in the immigrant circles about the organization he had initiated contact with. He had expected an underworld syndicate in the fashion that muggles had created. Instead, all he heard about were the legends of the shinobi, the warrior assassin of lore. Lucius Malfoy had for a moment felt quite inadequate in his own combat ability after hearing those tales. After all, all legends had a basis in truth and these ones were still alive and active. At the moment he had this mind numbing feeling of irrelevance, one he had never had before, one that this person seemed capable of generating by merely existing.

The tea was finished in a solemn atmosphere, with just their sips piercing through the silence. It was quite depressing actually. And the calm and indifference this eastern man held himself with was not really conducive to casual conversation, so Lucius, as the host, endeavored to make the first move.

"I hope you found the tea satisfactory?" Takeda raised his head and smiled. "Indeed Mr Malfoy, it was quite refreshing." Lucius took a second to look thoughtful, then said, "I trust you do not find our English blends...distasteful?." Takeda's lips twitched in a very unnoticeable manner. "Ah, one does miss the greener brews, but I am not above finding pleasure in less familiar beverages." Lucius nodded minutely, as close as this Malfoy would ever get to a bow towards anyone not named Lord Voldemort Takeda returned the gesture, after all they both knew this was tantamount to a declaration of the other person's superiority by the platinum haired pureblood. And then the 'negotiations' followed.

Half an hour later, Takeda walked out of Malfoy Manor, with a fully signed document, a magical contract. It was a simple trade agreement, for goods that were unrelated to the primary skills of Hakumei, but it was how things started. Familiarity brought forward an opportunity to generate trust. This was the first test. In a while, Malfoy would be able to hire shinobi for his purposes. But it would be a while still. Besides, even with all that vaunted wealth, he'd be able to hire just one and still land in near bankruptcy. In the east, knowledge was true wealth. Gold was valuable, but knowledge was priceless.

The eastern territories, the name was given to themselves by the residents of what most people knew as the far east. China, Japan, Korea and the various surrounding countries that existed there. These countries were quite unique in that the term wizard simply did not exist. In fact they had sorcerers, millions of them. This hidden population for the most part were peaceful folk, researching how to use sorcery to improve the world. Of course, because there were so many of them, and communication was often very limited, despite the numerous means available, often people were just repeating the findings of past ages, adding to their family scrolls or tomes, in fact more than one and a half thousand years ago, Chinese sorcerers had developed the first flying ships, becoming masters of the eastern sky and waging war in the air long before western civilization, conceived that man could fly.

The Japanese were unique however in that they had what might be called magical ninja. Shinobi had existed for centuries. And even though the non-magical assassins were the better known variety, the magical version still thrived in earnest. But since their primary function of spying and assassination was less prominent than in centuries past, they were mainly caretakers, acting in similar fashion as policemen, policing their territories in a similar fashion to the western obliviators. Ironically, the standards they lived and fought by rose, as they had to be even more careful in their roles in this new world where the mundane sprouted themselves and their cities like rabbits. The more sinister and traditional role they played was the elimination of rogues, magicals who refused to live peacefully and attempted to grab power or abuse that which they had. There were many more magical humans in the east and consequently there were statistically more idiots who had evil agendas that needed checking. Ninja were regularly hired, mostly through services – paying an assassin in gold was considered an insult in the east. It demeaned his or her skill, reducing the ninja to a mere mercenary. That was the reality of the east. The west was more easy going, in fact so much so that the east dismissed the west as primitive; magically speaking of course.

Lucius meanwhile calmed himself. This meeting had been taxing on a level wholly unfamiliar to the blond aristocrat. Simply keeping up a facade of apathy was he discovered, very very difficult to manage. But, it had its rewards, and he was determined to keep playing the game till the end. The crux for his whole plan rested on the fact that the hospital was in crisis. There was a shortage of professionally made healing potions.

The contract was simply a supply agreement. Enough potions to fully equip St. Mungo's myriad of departments for a full 3 months. Potions are usually not too difficult to make, hence why many of the very potions that healers used are taught in the Hogwarts curriculum. The problem occurs in quantity and quality. Truly effective potions require careful preparation under a steady hand, something the chaos ridden magical world finds in short supply. Hakumei had simply solved the problem by using muggles. Ordinary people were trained to mix and make potions in a manner similar to cooking. After all, the magic was already inside the ingredients. And frankly, world over there were plenty of homeless people who had no problem doing _anything_ for food and lodging. Hakumei just got them a lifetime job, paying them a small sum and conveniently letting them forget what they had done for years when they were returned to normalcy. Basic comforts make the deprived less likely to question the 'madness' of their tasks. Mild compulsions did not hurt. The ingredients themselves were sourced from eastern Europe. It was much cheaper than hiring one or more professional potion brewers to get it done.

Three weeks later, a shipment of healing potions were delivered to a warehouse of his employ. From there, they were anonymously donated to St. Mungo's. Then, when a sufficient amount of time had passed, people began to question how the hospitals notorious shortages had disappeared. People asked questions, and eventually, the name Malfoy slipped out, almost casually whispered by a no name flunky. People were shocked, disbelieving and grateful. Nobody wants their hospital in a potion-supply crisis. The fact that he had done this 'anonymously' was all people could talk about. The sequence of events had created more of an impact than if he had simply declared his donation publicly. People love intrigue, even if it doesn't end up in misery for somebody else. In this way, Malfoy had generated an immense level of public goodwill, which as the past had proved, always meant a significant increase in your political capital. A donation to the healer was tantamount to declaring your noble intention to serve the whole of the wizarding world. Such were the advantages a pile of galleons properly used ensured.

There always exists a concept in any "civilized" world that the richer you are, the more you are responsible for taking care of the people who are poorer than you. In an effort o separate himself from the thinly veiled animal he is, man seeks refuge in philanthropic affectation. This concept, which made Lucius's stomach crawl in more ways than one, was however a perfect means of gaining the goodwill and trust of the ignorant fools who were the bulk of the wizarding population. Who cared if the person doing the donating was a ruthless underhanded man who was once a secret(by not that much mind you) supporter and lieutenant of The Dark Lord? If he's using his wealth to help people, surely he can't be that bad right? Why, the very idea of the reformed (suspect)Death Eater is one even the mudbloods love! Lucius was very thankful to his father, the late Abraxus Malfoy, who had taught him the value of the subtle symbolic gesture as an unsurpassed means of molding public opinion.

There was a point of course to this rather long winded madness of course. In two years, Millicent Bagnold, the Minister of Magic was set to retire. Malfoy intended to ensure that her successor was...sympathetic to his views and ideas. Politicians were dime a dozen, but one who was not a total idiot, and capable of sticking with a simple plan... now that was something Lucius intended to see happen.

Two years later, Cornelius Oswald Fudge ascended the high throne of British magical government. Soon afterward, he found a 'generous' advisor in Lucius, the rich and publicly popular philanthropist. The twisted corridors of power would soon be twisted some more.

XXX

Takeda however, had another purpose in England, one a bit more long term than Lucius imagined. In Kyoto, inside headquarters, he had received his orders with a hidden grimace, wondering exactly why he had not taken the time and effort to die earlier. His boss, Hayate looked at him curiously. "Something wrong Takeda kun? Is this retirement plan not to your liking?" he asked, quite seriously. Takeda shook his head. And replied in the negative. He couldn't really complain after all. Hayate knew him well, and it seemed that his general had done this on a total whim, and just maybe as a practical joke to rattle his old bones. Why else would Takeda, master negotiator, still exceptional assassin and an adequate historian, be sent to this alien outpost, in the middle of nowhere? He reconciled himself by taking note of the fact that he was at least trusted and valued to run a safe house there. That is to say, he would reconcile himself, eventually.

Two weeks later, a small store was opened in Knockturn Alley. Those who frequented the area merely noted that there were several eastern looking swords, daggers and blades of all description on the shop front display, items which nobody bothered about, not here in Britain, where goblin blades still abounded, even if secretly. Very few people came there over the weeks, and those that did wore clothes that seemed quite weird and outlandish to the average wizard. However, it did not present a problem. In Knockturn, standard policy was along the lines of 'see nothing, hear nothing and for merlin's sake say nothing!'. Hakumei had a safe house in England. It might be said that even the path to world domination began with less.

XXX

In Surrey, a very different ninja was laying his own groundwork. Harry's start in the field of ninjutsu was quite...different than most ninja would have been used to in the Narutoverse. For one thing, despite his immense capacity in the illusionary arts, he had no idea how to go about actually doing a true elemental jutsu. How do you convert chakra into elemental chakra? How do handseals affect the molding of elemental chakra? And perhaps most important of all, what was his element? It was quite frustrating, when you knew what the results are, but had no clue to how one went about arriving at them.

For some strange and irrational reason, he was convinced that he would have more success finding his elemental nature than mapping out how to use handseals in elemental jutsu. And maybe, just maybe, he would have better luck if he concentrated on whichever element he would be most proficient in anyway...

The most glaring issue, was obviously the distinct lack of elemental testing paper. And he had no intention of feeding a sapling with chakra as it grew till it reached a stage where you could cut it and make paper out of it. Some things were just far too stupid to be attempted, his rash act of self mutiliation not withstanding.

So instead he decided to experiment. One particular thought was that affinity paper was just really really sensitive to chakra. Surely if he just pumped raw chakra steadily into a piece of paper for a while (a very vague period of time really) it might eventually show itself to be a particular element(stupid idea in hindsight really). Of course, there had to be multiple copies of this test attempt to ensure the statistical confirmation of the result. Science demanded it (at least one sensible demand had to be met).

Heavily handicapped by his particular upraising for out of the box and wacky ideas, he turned to his guru in all things normal, Richards.

"Hey Richards, can I have a bunch of small square papers I can keep on me all the time?"

"All I have at the moment is that half used stack of post-its, will that do?"

"That's great! Thanks Richards!"

"Er...sure, you're welcome...I think?"

By then, Harry had already bounded out of the library.

Harry spend the next three days clutching that stack of post-its while steadily pumping chakra into it. So what if it made the purple paper glow little? Post-its are meant to be bright after all...

And at the end of three days he got his reward for pushing chakra for a total of about forty plus hours when the whole stack just split clean down the middle. He felt ecstatic. It was marvelous, though it did raise eyebrows when Richards saw the post-its he'd given to Harry split into two right in front of him. And were those glowing?

While Richards was questioning if his advanced age was finally forcing him to buy corrective eye wear, Harry skipped off to do the exercise for wind chakra, except using old news papers. Leaves were remarkably rare and stripping down trees was in bad taste. He had to consider deforestation and global warming after all. Nobody said ninja had to be environmentally unfriendly.

XXX

Of course things are never easy when it came to chakra and Harry was in the thick of his big question, what exactly does wind do? His excellent intellect, on one hand, had compiled a good deal of archived evidence from his memory that suggested that wind was a bludgeoning force. Why, just look at hurricanes! A spinning wall of air and you have enough lost in damages to buy a small country. His documented evidence, the Manga said that wind was a cutting force, something which had just been suitably demonstrated upon the perfectly halved post-it stack. It was a grievous conundrum; one which he resolved by the perfectly scientific method of tossing a coin. Awesome blades of fury it was.

Considering that his chosen path had the equivalent of an instruction manual preexisting, Harry considered himself quite lucky. He had been forced to develop genjutsu literally from scratch after all. But without handseals, it still did not help him unless he wanted a Rasenshuriken, which was quite flashy for a ninja technique, irrespective of the mind numbingly awesome destruction it unleashed upon, well...one person. Besides, he kind of preferred to have 'ordinary' wind attacks that were transparent- very very useful if he needed an alibi not to mention it was more sneaky. After all, nobody could really pin anything on him if it was just a random gust of wind that did...whatever.

With sudden energy derived from his new found decisiveness, he dived headlong into his chosen path. He collected old newspapers and spent hour after hour for days focusing on ripping them into shreds, purely with chakra. Harry was on the road to wind mastery. The future was bright. Of course, he still needed to figure out how to use handseals...

XXX

Then, on a day that seemed quite ordinary, he was awakened by rude and incessant pounding on his door. And when he opened it, he found himself staring at the big, purpling and ugly mug of one Vernon Dursley. His uncle had finally blown a gasket. It was not unexpected, yet given that Harry had spent the last few days happily cutting paper in ever thinner and quicker slices, he had forgotten about the fact that there was a Moby Dick waiting to wreck his ship. The realization that this was a preordained event however did not mean that Harry intended to lay meekly, like a lamb to the slaughter. He was quite prepared to retaliate, physically or mentally. So, Harry asked questioningly, "Yes, _uncle_?"

Unaware of the grim determination that had settled into the mind of his young quarry, Vernon unleashed his primary weapon, the verbal salvo.

"None of that tone with me _boy_! You've been slacking off! Think we wouldn't notice?"

Harry noticed that his uncle failed to mention that it was the Dursleys themselves who reduced his chores till they were barely noticeable. Vernon meanwhile continued without pause or breath.

"No more I say! We've been far too kind to you boy! We took you in! Fed you! Housed you! And even sent you to a school! You think all that's free? You'd better go back to those chores or there will be consequences, you hear!"

Harry was surprised to find he had not retaliated with excessive force. His wonderment at his own self control was neatly shattered when Vernon, the ignorant whale muttered "useless freak" in a low voice that Harry only barely heard. But for some reason, it was enough. Rage exploded from within. Chakra flared and refused to settle down. The wind began to swirl around him, leaving nicks and lines in wide spirals.

Vernon watched these happenings with an attitude that was surprisingly logical. He saw the manifestation of otherworldly power, watched as the very air cut into his clothes, the wall and all things not his nephew. He analyzed this in a split second and decided on his course of action, executing it instantaneously.

Harry, in the detached state of mind that unholy rage left him in, watched as Vernon pissed in his pants(the liquid was clearly leaving its mark) while attempting to run away, all the while screaming like a little girl. Now that was multi-tasking!

Then as suddenly as it started, the uncontrolled chakra emission ended, and Harry was left with mere rage in his mind. To siphon it off, before he really did kill somebody, he used quite a few handseals to ensnare his uncle in a genjutsu, one that was quite useful, considering that it was a fear genjutsu that used the victims own fears to use. It was just really really hard, being complex and highly energy intensive. Perfect.

Vernon suddenly found himself very very small. All around him shadowy figures darted about in the shadows, in this house that suddenly looked nothing like the one he lived in. Occasionally macabre figures dressed in the freaky clothes came towards him, leering at him, flashing their hideous rotten teeth. They pointed twigs at him, vanishing and appearing in distinct pops. It was a scene right out of hell. And then, there was _him._ A single black clothed figure came out of the swarm of shadows, its face hooded and unseen. The figure with its distinctively Grim Reaper appearance lifted a single arm, whose sleeve lid down a bit, revealing a skeletal hand, devoid of all living tissue.

"_Vernon_._...Vernon...have you come to play?_", a creepy childish voice arose from the hood.

Vernon shivered. There was a disturbingly familiar ring to that voice, but he was far too busy staring at the bony index finger pointed at his face to think about such things.

"W_hat shall I do...What shall I do...Oh what shall I do... With you I wonder!_" the specter wailed, in an even more crazy and creepy sounding voice, plunging Vernon's jelly like spine into an icy abyss. Vernon however had surprisingly retained enough sanity to reply, or rather ask a question of his own.

"Wh-wh-who are you?" he spoke in a voice that sounded more brave than he felt.

The figure laughed, a horrible laugh that conveyed a maelstrom of negative emotions far more effectively than any words devised by the tongues of man.

"W_hy dear Vernon! Don't you know __who __**I**__ am? Or better still, __**what**__ I am?_", it asked, bringing down its hood, revealing a bleached skull, that was quite scary, especially considering the hint of fire in its eye sockets. And then, to complete the picture, a scythe materialized on the back of the entity, as if waiting to be used. Vernon was horrified. The reaper looked straight at him.

"_Now now __**Vernon**__...Don't look at me like that! Surely you knew that if you kept up your unholy behavior, you would be punished..._" then he continued in a more sing song voice, "Y_ou're going to hell Vernon! And I'm taking you there!_"

Mad cackling followed.

Vernon paled. He wasn't as religious as he thought (or told everyone) he was, but the idea of going to hell was not one he really wanted to see happen. As if reading his thoughts, Vernon saw that both he and the reaper were in front of a set of huge fiery ornate gates. They opened with a creak and he could just about make out the sight, sound, smell and the plain pure aura of suffering that lay beyond it. A red glow promised the fires that were surely waiting to start roasting him...slowly.

The reaper then lay his cold clammy 'hand' on Vernon's shoulder. "_You still have a chance Vernon...will you take it?_" his creepy tone of voice seemed to make it very clear that there was nothing it wanted more than to see Vernon refuse. Vernon immediately refused to refuse. "Wh-what must I do?"

The reaper sounded extremely disappointed."_Will you live your life as you should have? Will you give your nephew the care and support you should have given him? Will you treat him like he is human? WILL YOU STOP ADDING TO YOUR SINS?_"

Vernon furiously nodded. The reaper chuckled, creepily of course.

"A_re **you** sure you can do it Vernon my dear? I'm not...but then again, just remember...if you slip juuust **once**..._" he waved a bony hand to the gates, which flared brighter, as if anticipating Vernons entry into their fiery domain.

And then he found himself cowering on the ground near an amused looking Harry, a confused Petunia and a blank looking Dudley. "Vernon darling? Are you all right?" Petunia asked, quite concerned. "You were shaking and shivering a lot, uncle Vernon." No prizes for guessing who.

Vernon shook himself. Was it all a dream? He looked at Harry's door. It was untouched. Not a sign of the freakish display he was sure he had just seen. When he was just about to write the whole thing off as one big hallucination, he felt a bony hand on his shoulder and a familiar creepy childish voice whisper into his ear...

"R_emember what happens if you forget...i would just...**hate** it... If you decided that hell is where you want to spend eternity...Then **I** won't have aaaanyone to...entertain me...wouldn't want that now, would we Vernon?_" Vernon had in the middle of it glanced behind him,just to make sure, only to see nobody there. He promptly renounced any intention of sinning. He also resolved to be more religious in the future.

Harry spent the month of December in considerably more comfort and ease than all the previous years of his life. No chores, no glares, no nothing. It was as if the Dursleys had suddenly turned a new leaf, which was creepy in its own way, mind altering genjustsu not withstanding. Consequently when Petunia asked, oh so nicely if Harry would spend Christmas with them, Harry politely refused and asked if it would be okay to spend his holidays with his school librarian to work on a project. And in a testament to the Dursleys sea change in attitude they agreed, without batting an eyelid at the wording he had used. They even wished him a safe trip and luck on his project. Harry wondered if his genjutsu had done its work too well.

XXX

Of course, when he got to Richards, he had to deal with a different, if more 'normal' problem.

Richards rubbed his chin lazily and looked at him gravely.

"So let me get this straight, your _uncle-_"

He stressed his voice with a particularly strong hint of disbelief.

"-had some type of quasi-religious experience."

It was true, in the sense that Vernon had described his experience as a meeting with celestial beings, who had instructed him to live a pious life. Well actually it was a lot longer and included lines from the bible(which Harry had no idea from where, considering Vernon could barely stand Sunday mass, never mind actual reading) that made it seem he had talked to an apostle. Richards continued,

"and has now been so _moved_, that _he_ has decided to treat _you_ properly?"

The incredulity of the statement could not have been more apparent if he tried.

Harry made a pacifying gesture.

"Its true. That's the reason I managed to make it here in the first place. Don't you believe me?" Puppy dog eyes were tried and tested weapons, the perfected result of thousands of years of evolution, and they did not fail him now.

Richards rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was very very hard to think clearly when those eyes, those incredible mind numbing green eyes were looming over you. It was impossible to resist, there was no way out, he had to give in.

"All right, I believe you-" He could almost see Harry doing his victory dance, "-but are you absolutely sure you didn't just grab your things and run?"

Harry was intrigued. Externally he just pouted. This man, upon who he had sworn not to use his more esoteric abilities (for obvious reasons) was resisting, at least partially, the most potent weapon that children the world over had; that mans will power was awesome.

Harry replied, "Yes, positive. You can call them if you'd like?" he offered.

Richards shook his head before he finished. He had met that man once, and as they say, once was one time too many. Besides, he somehow knew that Harry was telling the truth, at least about getting the Dursley's permission, despite his own staunch belief that the 8 year old was adept enough to convince a tiger it was a cat (and the voice inside his head that screamed that Harry was the cause of it all).

"So you're gonna spend Christmas here?"

"Yes"

"And the Dursleys won't file a kidnapping report?"

"No"

"Positive?"

"God! Yes already!"

Richard finally nodded, accepting it, Harry would be staying.

The next few days were fun. They played chess, watched movies, retold war stories, toured the old mans WWII memorabilia collection, had Star Wars marathons, talked about sciences that normal 8 year olds had no interest in(but helped Harry's wind related knowledge immensely), exchanged cooking secrets and did other odd things that would be considered unusual among another pair their ages. They exchanged gifts for Christmas, Richards getting a delicious dinner, courtesy Harry, and Harry getting a bamboo practice sword and kendo videos, courtesy of Richards son, an electronics engineer at a Japanese firm. All in all, it was a fun couple of days.

Before Harry left after their time together though, Richards gave him one last thing to think about. He said,"Now would be a great time to ask them about your parents. If they have really changed, maybe they'll actually tell you who they were and how they died. Just think about it."

Harry asked the Dursleys the magic question exactly on the 29th of December. By the time that day ended, he had been left with more questions than answers. Magic was real. His freakishness was the above mentioned magic. His mother and father also had it. They attended a school, run by a certain 'Dumbledore' who was also the one who sent him here. His parents were killed by some evil magic wielders. They still lived free and were seeking revenge, apparently. He would also be invited to the magical school when he turned 11. They used sticks that sent beams of light that did freakish things. There was someplace in London where his mother had gone to get her magical stuff. No, they didn't know where it was or how to get there. Dumbledore was a very old man. His eyes twinkled. They used brooms to fly. They could also teleport with a 'pop'. Oh, and they regularly drank stuff made with such ingredients armadillo bile and newt eyes. Or was it armadillo eyes and newt bile?

Needless to say, his brain had nearly short-circuited in the end with the random facts his aunt was quite eager to provide and seemingly pulled out just as she appeared to have finished. In the end, he simply decided that he would be better of continuing what he was already doing, only at an accelerated pace. He would quit school. There was very little necessity, considering that he would be going to this school when he was eleven anyway. He could home school till then in the subjects that really mattered, like science (physics was such a fascinating thing) and of course everything he himself had and would develop. Fuinjutsu was also going to have to be given a higher priority. He also had to give puppetry a try. He had to gain ability in other elements. Shadow clones had to be perfected and improved upon if possible. So many things simply had to be done. He wondered if he would be ready in time. He had just two and a half years after all...

XXX

A few weeks later in London, a certain Japanese man was putting the finishing touches on his report to his superior. After the regular bits were covered, he added an extra bit that he felt needed to be reported.

"There are frequent energy fluctuations detected from the Surrey area. Energy is not sorcery or ninjutsu. Source is shielded and exact location is untraceable. Will monitor..."

XXX

A/N: yes its finally over. 5th chapter is up. I so love writing. Its a great feeling. And its all thanks to you guys, so give yourself a cheer! Hope you like this one as well

Hmmm, as you have noticed, I've gone with wind for Harry here. Not that there was much doubt, for reasons that were stated, wind was pretty much his natural element. As for doujitsu, the kanji in his eye thing has a different purpose and is not a bloodline, more of a seal actually, which magic shall do...stuff with. I think I'll surprise you for this one. I was surprised that more of you didn't suggest Gaara's sand ability. I mean that is awesome in itself and uses wind too(even if not strictly a bloodline). Some of you may be asking what the whole purpose of Hakumei in this story is. They have dealings with Malfoys, have a 'space' in Knockturn, but they aren't real 'villains' yet. I've provided a bit of unrelated history here so that when I do introduce them later on they won't be popping out of thin air and are actual parallel characters with an existing back story of sorts(somehow I feel I messed that up...sorry if I did). That's all bout them. Next chapter starts after the time skip, so Hogwarts is almost here. Don't forget to breathe!

And as always, PLEASE REVIEW!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer : I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter. Hell, I don't even own a bicycle.

XXX

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was a god, as was the Sandaime Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen. Both were great leaders of men, and both had lived through a war, Both were peerless warriors in their prime, and both in their later years, were skilled enough to tide over the failings of frail bodies through pure ability. Both were administrative heads, and had to deal with the evils of paperwork. Both had generous white hair and were eccentric old men. And in a savage twist, both had the misfortune of condemning their orphaned saviors through hell because they turned a blind eye to the failings of ordinary humanity. And in the end , both lived to regret their decisions, and lack thereof. Whether Dumbledore, like Sarutobi, would die in battle, spouting at at the end that he died without regrets remained to be seen.

The great man, as many were fond of calling him, sat in his chair, looking at the bird that he was fortunate to call companion, the immortal phoenix, Fawkes. For, unlike his fine feathered friend, 'the great man' was not immortal, and they both knew it. But unlike the fiery creature of the light, Dumbledore could _feel_ it. And he would have told anyone who asked, that being 110 years of age was actually very annoying. And being of the ilk that didn't really fear death, he wondered occasionally why he hadn't gone on to the next great adventure yet.

And then, the answer would rise up from the depths of his mind. Tom Marvolo Riddle, who styled himself Lord Voldemort was still alive. He had not died in 1981, merely fulfilling one part of an accursed prophesy, yet convincing the world that he had passed on. Tom had marked an equal for himself and had suffered the ignominy of turning into something worse than a ghost. There were reports of dark activity from Albanian forests, and once you had all the information, you didn't need the genius of Albus Dumbledore to figure out that that was where the heir of Slytherin was hiding. What he would do when he returned was impossible to say. But it was clear that the results would be ugly.

Dumbledore was not a fool. There was no doubt in his mind that Riddle would return. And he knew it was a case of sooner rather than later. He simply counted himself lucky that some fanatic had not _already_ sworn to resurrect the Dark Lord and then done exactly that. The magical world could surprise you like that. And it helped that the true fanatics were all in Azkaban, or dead.

The real problem was twofold. First he had to discover exactly how Riddle had achieved this temporary immortality. For there was no way to achieve true immortality through the dark arts. The only method that guaranteed that you would live, in a functioning manner was the philosophers stone. Every other method had catastrophic prices to pay. And all of them left the poor sod in such fashion that death would have been a welcome mercy. Unfortunately, Riddle was crazy enough to do one. It was a pity really; what a great wizard he could have become!

And after the method had been discovered, then he would have to neutralize it and send Riddle on his own next great adventure. It was too much work really. If he was an ordinary man, he would have just keeled over and passed on. But he was Albus Dumbledore and he couldn't abandon the wizarding world to annihilation at the hands of a vengeful Dark Lord.

At any rate, things would soon come to a head. He had no doubt about it. This was the tenth anniversary of Riddle's 'death'. And this was the year that Harry Potter would join Hogwarts. Intuition told him that this year would set the ball rolling for Riddle as well. And when you lived to 110, you learned to trust your gut feeling. It was the reason after all why he had sent for the philosophers stone. The Flamels had finally decided to pass on to the other side. It was one more coincidence to the lot, and Albus Dumbledore would not be found wanting in foresight. Tomorrow the Hogwarts letter would reach 4 Privet Drive. He hoped it would find Harry in good health and good spirits. The boy would need both, if things went they way he believed they would.

XXX

Harry Potter was in great health and better spirits. He was prepared. Or at least he felt he was. There was really no way to be sure, but he had done the best he could.

It could have been said that Harry had not changed much, but that was clearly not the case. He looked very imposing these days with his above average height. He seemed quite older than his records claimed he was. For a eleven year old, Harry James Potter was an exceptionally mature boy. He was serious at all times and rarely laughed. He was simply too busy to have too much fun. But then, nobody knew about his night time jaunts, so they could all be forgiven for assuming that Harry was an all work, no play type of person. Not that anyone really cared, after all, he was the "delinquent".

Harry was what could be called a skilled ninja. He had an impressive repertoire of jutsu, primarily wind, but in all the other elements too. He had a basic knowledge over puppetry and even had a monstrosity of a wooden arachnid that he sometimes rode, just for fun. He was quite the seal master for having started from scratch, and had practically written entire books about the subject, in Japanese. Shadow clones made all sorts of stuff possible.

Harry had long mastered the shadow clone. It was simply too valuable not to use. He had started from what he read, and gone on to modify it in small ways each time he created them. And cumulative time from the clones meant that his mind was about 6 years older than his body, something which actually reflected in his thought processes. He hadn't been eleven for a while now. And he used them near continuously day after day-being in two or more places at once is a very useful thing indeed.

Harry had taken the time to expand his elemental capability, after all unpredictability is a ninja's greatest asset. So he had pursued earth, water and the tiniest bit of fire. Raiton remained just outside his reach as he could mold the chakra but could not really use it in a practical fashion. Then again, he could do an elemental water dragon, even if it was a small one, so he didn't mind too much.

Harry carried all sorts of things on him now, especially since the magic letter was expected any day now. It really didn't hurt to be prepared. Sealing had given him a unique perspective into storage, and barriers, which was how you did anything in sealing. An explosive tag activated by imparting a high level of energy to the matter it was comprised of, namely the paper and ink. A barrier contained the energy for a given amount of time after which, it ceased to exist, releasing the matter at high velocity in an omni-directional manner, in other words, it exploded. Storage seals involved creating extra dimensional spaces, the dimensions and capacities of which were determined by the seal(he needed quite the imagination to figure it out). And of course, you could reinforce a solid, rigid object by the correct use of barriers. Other things were possible in stages. The possibilities increased with the complexities, but it was all worth the time and effort. But the one seal that Harry really treasured was a chakra absorption seal, that drew chakra from the atmosphere. It was the holy grail of sealing as far as Harry was concerned, and he had done it. He just didn't feel the need to place it anywhere important, so it lay unused, for now. Not that it could do much...the ambient chakra was not as plentiful as he had hoped.

The journey however, had been very problematic. There were an infinite ways that things could and had gone wrong. It was almost impossible for even him to comprehend the full magnitude of what he was trying. Sealing was very precise, and very easy to get wrong. It was perhaps a very good thing that Harry had the ability to regrow fingers. Otherwise he wouldn't really have any left. The first seals... weren't. So they didn't do anything at all. But when he had finally started to get closer to what he now knew as actual seals, he began to start seeing chakra burns that were what he would have expected for failed seals. It was actually a relief to know that seals did exist and it was all not a figment of his imagination.

When he finally lost a whole hand to a misfiring exploding tag(and spent half a day regrowing it painfully) he had finally switched to trying to use clones to do the actual activation of the seal. His research finally restarted when he perfected the art of channeling chakra into seals through mizu bunshin. It was how he began to derive what he would call the postulates of sealing, which was actually a quite straightforward set of rules he had discovered relating to how he would eventually do the things he could do. Seals were time consuming as they had to be drawn by hand. He supposed it had to do with the latent chakra the ink drew or something(you just couldn't mass produce them through printing) but they got you concrete results, and for that, they were amazing.

XXX

The owl, was not a great one. It was of the stock that Hagrid had bred for the service of the school and was consequently one of those high endurance sufficiently intelligent and properly anonymous little birds that Dumbledore and his staff used constantly in the holidays to deliver communications of all sorts to students. Consequently, this particular bird had been used to deliver letters to three families of magical children before it was assigned to carry this particular one.

The letter that it carried would have been considered historic. It was after all **the** Hogwarts letter to **the** Boy-Who-Lived. If somebody had actually taken the time to auction it, there would have been quite a few outrageous bids for what was essentially an everyday piece of stationary. The wizarding world, just like the muggle one had its share of the irrational fan people. And they called themselves "different" from muggles...

This owl however had no inkling of the particular artifact it carried in its talons. It was after all a mere mail bird. It had within it a great amount of the magics that allowed it to find and deliver its cargo to any person or location in the world. At the moment the same magics were telling it that it had but a couple more miles to go, and that its tiring flight muscles would finally get a rest. High altitude flight is quite the tedious affair.

When the owl landed though, it suddenly found itself instructed to wait. Now a normal person would have questioned a thought that suddenly told them to wait when they really wanted to leave(or not; humans can rationalize the end of the world if necessary), but the owl didn't really mind, for it really wanted to rest anyway. Inside the house, the recipient of the letter felt the owl trap he had laid 'trip' and started to walk out. There were things to be done, and little time to do it in. the morning of July the 24 would be quite different to what he was used to.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf Warlock, Supreme

Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts

School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all

necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

The letter of course was the standard one issued to wizarding children, but did not have the accompanying faculty member to explain everything, which was really necessary considering that Harry was isolated from the wizarding world by the headmaster himself and consequently could not have been replied to, as the letter asked the recipient to. Where the hell did they expect Harry to conjure an owl out of anyway? And where exactly was Diagon Alley? And why did it sound suspiciously like the word diagonally?

So, with a great deal of annoyance, Harry wrote a reply, on paper, telling the next unfortunate reader that he had no previous contact with this "magical" world, had no clue what they were talking about, and had no intention of taking this pathetic excuse of a hoax seriously unless someone was going to take the trouble to enlighten him as to why they wanted him of all people to learn to pull rabbits out of hats.

The letter, which might as well have been called a muggle howler, was held out to the poor brown bird who was perched outside. And obedient as ever, the bird took on new cargo and prepared to fly all the way back to Scotland, again. Thankfully, a conveniently timed gust of wind took it up to a great height in no time, reducing the work the owl had to do and pushing back the time it would take. Down below, Harry watched it fly off, knowing that soon he would be thrust into this seemingly crazy world, which had him learning such odd subjects as "transfiguration".

XXX

To say that Minerva McGonagall was not amused would be a terrible understatement. She was literally steaming from the ears, though that may have something to do with the little bottle she took a swig out of just before rushing out of her office. Looking at her, one might have been tempted to say that she was angry at the letter she had just received from one Harry James Potter, but then, one would have been only partially correct. For while it was true that the letter was the cause of this eruption of curses (not from her wand mind you) that McGonagall was currently letting, it was not the sender that was the target of this string of obscenities that would have sent a Death Eater blushing. No, her enemy lay entrenched in his stone fortress, guarded by a gargoyle that refused to give her right of passage.

"Albus! You will let me in right this instant! You and I have some _matters_ to discuss!" She would later be very embarrassed about the way she had behaved, and did apologize, but at the moment, she was far too gone to bother with such niceties.

Said Albus was a very wise man, for he did not immediately let her through. An angry Minerva was like an out of control storm. There would be no telling what that woman would do when she was in one of her moods. And the headmaster remembered the last time that she had gotten worked up. She had turned his precious office into a pile of rubble. Thankfully, he had been one of the few people who could reverse the transfigurations that had demolished his office, but it had taken a while still. This was one woman who was not afraid of the great Albus Dumbledore. And it was at moments like this, that he wished she was.

McGonagall however didn't wait too long. She merely transfigured the stone gargoyle into a paperweight, which she promptly sent flying down the hallway with a sturdy kick. Then she climbed up the moving stairs, looking for all intents and purposes like an avenging goddess of destruction.

"Albus Dumbledore! Will you explain yourself?" she shouted as soon as she reached the top and flung open the door. The headmaster however was quite unruffled and smiled pleasantly, twinkling eyes and all. Internally, he thanked Merlin he had not locked the door. His deputy might have reached the conclusion that he was hiding.

McGonagall was not amused. However, just as she was about to shout again, Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something. She paused a fraction of a second, waiting for what he would say.

Dumbledore had calmly opened a drawer and retrieved a bowl. He popped something into his mouth and then offered the bowl to his fuming adversary, still smiling. "Lemon drop?"

McGonagall looked speechless. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, without uttering a sound. Then she smiled sweetly in that fashion that only an enraged goddess of destruction can achieve, and said "Why, no thank you Headmaster." and promptly sat down. that she was fingering her wand did not go unnoticed. Neither was the fact that magic was rolling around her person like a tropical squall.

Dumbledore, ever thankful for small favors, decided to quickly get his few words in before she started again. "Minerva! What can I do for you?" he asked jovially, as if it was the most normal thing in the world and she had not just been shouting at him, for what reason he still didn't know.

McGonagall it seemed, had suddenly realized that latter detail too, for she got to her point in a much more subdued manner. But nobody could deny that her words held a strong sense of reproach in them.

"Headmaster, can you please tell me what this means?"

She handed over the letter, the same piece of paper that was Harry's reply. Dumbledore took it and adjusted his half moon glasses, reading the letter with an air that grew more despondent as his eyes traveled down. At the end he simply sighed, shocking McGonagall, who had not seen him do such a thing since the war trials had finished. At the moment, he really looked like a broken man.

"Headmaster?" McGonagall asked tentatively. The sight of him frowning was quite disturbing indeed.

Dumbledore looked at her gravely. The letter had destroyed a bit of himself. His decision it seemed, had worked too well. When young Harry had been sent to the Dursleys, in spite of their opinion of magic, he had silenced his misgivings with the thought that Harry would be well taken care of. He told himself that the ordinary muggle middle class family would provide an ideal home where Harry could grow up without the adoration of a grateful wizarding world to corrupt his developing mind. The same family that had produced Lily Evans would do the same for Harry Potter, that was his guiding assumption. He had assumed that Lily's sister would eventually tell the boy about his heritage. After all, while she was neither witch nor squib, she was no stranger to the magical world.

When Petunia was very young, a certain Severus Snape had discovered that his neighbor, a young Lily Evans was a witch. He immediately proceeded to inform her of the fact. Their conversations, while hushed were certainly overheard by the young Petunia, who as a result knew more about the wizarding world than she let on. Also, she had seen Dumbledore, who had paid a visit to reinforce the message about taking care of Harry. Apparently, the situation hadn't worked quite the way Dumbledore had assumed and planned for. The letter in front of him was shouting this at him.

His decision at the time had also been influenced by what he had deduced about the situation from the facts at hand. That night, when he had stepped through the nearly destroyed Potter home, he had reached only one conclusion. Whether by chance or design, the innocent Lily had invoked the ancient magics of sacrificial protection. It was a forgotten snippet he read a long time ago from a book that no longer existed that had even suggested its possibility. The fact that she had been able to invoke it at all was astounding. He had always known that Lily was a bright girl, so in the end he concluded that she had done it purposely, that girl had actually planned for the terrible possibility that had unfolded! Now, his only task was to somehow protect her son so that her sacrifice was not in vain. Riddle may have been ended but his Death Eaters were still free. That fear would be justified when mere days later the Longbottoms were attacked, and the couple left in a state worse than death. But he had made a split second decision while still in that burning shell of a home, one he would later convince himself was the right one, until now.

Dumbledore sighed once more and then turned to face McGonagall. "It seems that this old man has been proved wrong. I kept the boy alive, but the price may be higher than anyone could imagine..."

"Headmaster?" McGonagall asked in a half worried and half curious tone. Dumbledore would spend quite a while explaining why she would have to undo some of his mistakes, when she went to visit Harry. She was most certainly not amused by the whole situation.

XXX

Harry was not quite aware of the trouble and despair he had unleashed upon the old man, but needless to say, if he did, he would have been very pleased. He had spent his time in a very relaxed manner, trying to settle back into the normalcy of average humanity before somebody arrived to meet him. Since he knew for a fact that the letter was not a hoax, it would only be a matter of time before that happened. And he wanted to be a very normal and removed-from-the-magical-world type of person when they did. He wasn't trying to get them suspicious of anything after all, and he assumed that would have been his reaction if he had not discovered his inner ninja when he was seven.

In a way, the last few months had been troubled. The great Daniel Richards had passed away, at seventy seven, having been the victim of a heart attack. The veteran had passed away in his sleep. But before he had gone, he had endeavored and succeeded to turn Harry into a fine human being, one who was knowledgeable and intelligent, a literary warrior of his own caliber. And Harry liked to think that the old man had succeeded. It was sad, but it was a reality that was he would have to deal with. Death was the one thing that would be a constant in his life, and the sooner he began to deal with it the better.

But the one thing that Harry was quite amused at was the fact that Richards had given Harry a place in his will. While his son had gotten the cash, and the house, Harry had gotten most of the books, most of the war memorabilia, and a couple of Star Wars costumes, in Harry's size. Stormtrooper armor can be easily modified into battle armor when you have quite the knowledge of seals; and lots and lots of paint. It was also easier to pay your respects, with nobody to grumble at your presence at a funeral when you're dressed up as Darth Vader. He was simply dismissed as one of the old mans odd acquaintances. Harry was not inclined to hide there of all places. Besides, in its own way, this was more fun than messing with peoples heads with illusions.

Harry had been grateful to the old man, as he was quite frankly the only family Harry ever really had. This fact was perhaps affirmed by the fact that Harry spent every Sunday for a while after his death mediating (invisibly) on his grave. It was quite peaceful for his mind.

XXX

The 28th of July was a Sunday. Consequently, when the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts swooped down the driveway in an excellent imitation of Severus "the bat" Snape, nobody was really there to witness the odd apparition. Once she was at the door though, she composed herself. Whatever the annoyance she felt towards the headmaster, it was poor form to display it in front of her potential student. The 'potential' part of course was purely reflex. She never had any doubt that Harry would be accepting his invitation to learn at Hogwarts.

She rang the doorbell. It was an odd thing really, and she would much rather prefer a solid doorknocker over this muggle contraption any day. Then again, it was also wise to not display this disdain towards muggle devices openly. In the last 5 years, 12 muggleborns had refused to study at Hogwarts because the person who had been responsible for the visit had displayed a rather anti-muggle attitude and attempted to force the child with some rather heavy handed words. The subsequent obliviations(to preserve the statute of secrecy) had meant a very real loss to the magical community. It was an entirely different matter that ten of the twelve were visits conducted by Severus Snape. _SHE_ would not be repeating the mistakes of certain others.

The door was opened by somebody that McGonagall knew and hated all too well, Vernon Dursley. The fact that he did not sneer/shout/sputter at her though was a welcome change from what Dumbledore described from his last visit here. But the slight stiffening that she noticed assured her that this was in fact the real Vernon Dursley. What really shocked her was the fact that he politely said "Good Day, what can I do for you?" McGonagall did not spend more than the tiniest of moments on contemplating what terrible head injury this man must have sustained. Instead she continued with what she had been assigned to do. "I'm here to see Harry Potter."

Vernon nodded and said, "Please, come in. I shall call for him momentarily."

McGonagall was very very surprised at this unusual behavior, so much so that she had to stop herself from looking for glassy eyes, checking for if somebody had imperiused this man. She sat in the offered chair quite dazed and more than a bit confused. She did however take the tea the man offered her.

Harry Potter had in the middle of this come down and seated himself. He looked quite normal, if slightly taller than the average eleven year old. He wore loose black clothing that looked more like those worn by the Egyptian desert nomads she had seen than what the average muggle wore. It looked quite odd, and frankly she was quite fascinated at the possible insights this abnormal clothing could offer. Harry himself was not quite ready to be stared at in this penetrating fashion and politely coughed.

McGonagall quickly roused herself from her thoughts and smiled a bit. There was more than the fair share of James Potter in this boys looks than she had imagined. So she began, in a more polite version of the curt Scottish tone she normally used.

"Mr Potter, my name is Minerva McGonagall. I am the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, the school that you...replied to in a quite severe fashion. I have been given to understand that you have many questions regarding magic. Is that true?"

Harry looked at her in a very skeptical manner and answered.

"Yes, that is it. I find myself quite unconvinced regarding this 'magic' business and cannot comprehend the purpose behind the letter that your 'school' has sent. I am at the moment under the distinct impression that this is some sort of elaborate hoax. While my aunt has mentioned that the letter is not, as I suspect a joke, due to our prior history I find myself not quite convinced. Perhaps you can elaborate further upon this matter?"

McGonagall felt the migraine rear its ugly head.. The Boy-who-lived was convinced that magic was a joke. She could already imagine what Severus would have done by now – bid good day and leave, probably with that billowing cloak of his no less. And why was Harry not informed about magic sooner? Dumbledore had told them that the Dursleys were supposed to tell him about his heritage, but it seemed that whatever head injury that had reformed the male Dursley had seemingly driven this matter clean out of his head. And she suspected that the jealousy that Petunia harbored towards her sister(from what Dumbledore had said about the past) had stopped her from doing anything either. And in the midst of it all she admired the very demeanor that this boy exhibited. It looked like this one was more Slytherin than Gryffindor. Then again, with that vocabulary, he might as well be Ravenclaw.

She cleared her throat. "Would you believe in magic if I were to demonstrate something for which magic is the only rational explanation?"

Harry thought for a second and then replied, "After ignoring the fact that magic _is_ irrational, yes."

So she simply nodded...and turned into a cat. She then jumped onto Harry's lap, who promptly began conducting his own investigation on it, with respect to anatomy, and his own infantile medical jutsu that could right now let him vaguely get a "feel" for the chakra systems(which everything living had, weak as it was) of all living things. A minute later, she jumped into her chair and transformed back. Harry looked the slightest bit unnerved by the display. Good.

McGonagall then whipped her wand out, slowly and showed it to Harry, who raised an eyebrow. Then she pointed at her teacup, which was on the table and obligatory wave of wand later, turned it into a toad.

"That Mr Potter was a **spell** that I cast using this **wand**. The result of this spell is as you have seen, is the transformation of this teacup into a toad. This is one of aspects the subject I am teaching and is called transfiguration. What you saw before that was what is called an animagus transformation, also another application if a great deal more advanced one of transfiguration."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Then he slowly reached out and grabbed the toad, which hadn't moved. He looked at it from several angles, then poked and prodded it. After his examination, he set it down and politely asked her to turn the toad back. He then proceeded to examine the teacup in similar fashion. It was actually quite amusing to watch. The cup then slipped and fell out of his hand. Just as it fell and broke on the floor, McGonagall levitated it back on to the table. She looked at him expectantly.

"I will concede that science cannot explain this and that magic is real. Now, if you could tell me exactly what this _magical __adventure_ will entail?"

McGonagall smiled to herself. She had won and now it was just a matter of reeling him in.

XXX

It took two hours, from eight to ten AM to finish clearing all of his doubts. It was quite tedious to actually explain things in detail before he accepted any statement she made and let her continue. It almost felt like she was being interrogated. Then again, she was a bit glad that at least one student this year was this inquisitive and thorough. Such people ended up going far in the magical world. Then she remembered that she would also have to take him to Diagon and felt the migraine return in full force. She could only imagine how that would end. Yet again, Minerva McGonagall found herself cursing a certain twinkling eyed old man. Then, she spent another 15 minutes telling Harry exactly why he was popular. Harry did not look amused, but he didn't say a thing.

McGonagall however found herself pleasantly surprised when they had left for supplies. Harry in Diagon (or was it 'Harry in Public'?) was a very quiet Harry. He did not talk much, went about his business with consummate ease and generally kept her migraine at bay. It was actually quite a relief.

When Harry had been side along apparated to an alley near the Leaky Cauldron, Harry had asked about the 'teleportation', politely. He accepted the basic explanation she gave and asked to continue. There would always be time to learn about it later.

The entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and the pub itself were quite unimpressive. Though, the uses of magic all around were apparent to his finely tuned sight and hearing. However, for the entrance to the commercial center of the wizarding world, it was quite plain, uninspired and looked like it had come straight out of the middle ages. If only he knew...

Harry, was not mobbed at the pub because he had been fortunate enough to put up the hood that came with his ensemble. He had stated that he had no particular desire to show his face in public.

"Professor, are hoods particularly common in the wizarding world?"

McGonagall noticed that he stumbled over the word 'wizarding', as if still not used to the idea. She led him to the back, where the famous wall and trash can were. McGonagall pointed out the brick(muttering "Three up, two across" for his benefit) and tapped it, before replying, "yes, robes come in a variety of fashions and it is not uncommon for ordinary and outdoor wear to have hoods instead of hats"

Harry heard her, but was actually paying more attention to the rather curious way the bricks were clearing away. He looked on with curiosity, wondering what sort of amazing place would be behind the magic wall. Surely this place must be incredible!

McGonagall looked at Harry, scrutinizing his face for the awestruck look that characterized most muggleborn faces when they first see Diagon Alley. Indeed, she was not disappointed, when Harry looked like his jaw was on the floor. He seemed speechless.

"I'm speechless" he said, as if to emphasize the point. McGonagall resisted the urge to giggle at his face.

"It's quite an imposing sight when you first see it. I find that most muggleborn students find it fairly intimidating and impressive, when really, its just like any muggle market, except with magic"

Harry passed the stores in silence, following the moderate pace that the professor had set to allow him to take in the sights. It was as they say, an experience. While Harry had certainly seen markets before, this one had the most outrageous wares to sell. It was more than what McGonagall said it was. And they didn't even seem to be using what he considered currency. Apparently, the magical economy was also severed from the non-magical one. He would have to ask about it later.

XXX

Harry did not ask about anything as they slowly meandered towards the great white structure that McGonagall, without his prompting had said was 'Gringotts', the wizarding bank. It was the most distinctive building in the whole alley, with its white marble walls and pillars, perhaps a sign to show that the bank was pure or something. He really couldn't say. But then, it still had the characteristic lack of straightness that seemed to plague the whole alley and still looked odd enough.

When he entered, he found himself fascinated by the goblins, these weird looking creatures who were apparently the guardians of the wizarding worlds economy. It was quite amazing to think that this species had existed right under everybody for god knew how long. And sentient non-human life at that! It was really quite fascinating. But then he was supposed to be a ninja, and ninja did not get fascinated at new species of intelligent life – they analyzed said species for the threat level posed by them and neutralized them if necessary. This magical world was screwing with his priorities...

The Professor seemed to have an idea of what was supposed to be done, so he let her do it. He could always badger her with questions later. So, when the conversation at the counter was over and a nondescript goblin(named Griphook) had been called, he merely went with the flow. Questions about exactly why _his_ vault key was in the possession of Albus Dumbledore could wait. Besides, these carts looked quite interesting too.

And so very interesting they were. Harry's wind nature seemed to give him a vague sense of how the tunnels went. And his senses were hardly taxed by the myriad of twists and turns the cart took in its journey. He could probably draw a map if he wanted. Not that he had to, it was just that this seemed to be the first place where his skills could be used in something resembling a useful fashion. Not to mention he just plain liked the speed. It almost felt like he was flying. Hmmm...that was an idea. After all he had read about ninja who could fly, and while he could certainly jump a very large distance(and more with some pressure assistance from his wind nature) flying was out of reach at the moment. That would have to be rectified. Perhaps seals would have the answer.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts when the cart finally stopped in front of a vault, which he assumed was vault 687-his vault. Now he would know exactly what McGonagall had meant when she said that Harry was 'fairly well off'. And now would be an excellent time to ask about the currency, not to mention how to change it to British pounds. If he had enough, he could do a fair bit of the things he had put off for being prohibitively expensive. And then the vault door opened.

Harry was for once truly shocked. The term 'pile of gold' had not really meant anything, until now. He was definitely grateful that his parents had left enough gold so that he could do...wait, how much did that pile of gold translate to in hard cash anyway? He asked.

"The gold coins are Galleons, the silver ones, Sickles, and the bronze ones, Knuts. There are 17 Sickles in a Galleon and 29 Knuts in a Sickle. And that Mr Potter is the currency system used by the wizarding world"

The reply was oddly enough, from the goblin standing behind him. When he turned to look at Griphook, the goblin grinned savagely. Now that was more like it! Hidden from McGonagall's view, he returned the gesture, adding a bit of killing intent. The goblin now looked distinctly happy, which is actually quite a weird look for the usually snarky species.

"So how much would a galleon be in British pounds?" Harry asked.

"A galleon is 5 pounds. You may exchange them at the appropriate counter in the main floor."

"Most useful information, Griphook."

Griphook merely smiled, this time refraining from showing his distinctive teeth. Harry and these goblins would get along famously. He turned around. He had galleons to take. McGonagall for some strange reason had to shake off the sudden image of Harry laughing maniacally – quite odd that.

The ride back was passed in as much silence as the ride down. McGonagall winced visibly and Harry internally whooped for joy. He would have to check up on flying soon...

XXX

After Gringotts, the first stop was Madame Malkins. The robe shop was quite interesting as far as clothing shops went. Well, it was his first magical clothing store, and he had to admit that the experience had slight differences, though the basic procedure was somewhat the same. Harry vaguely wondered why there simply wasn't a spell that the necessary stuff. That would get rid of the uncomfortably close contact that seemed unavoidable for all the fat lot of good magic was. Then again, he supposed that having a wand pointed at you, especially by a complete stranger would be worse. McGonagall had mentioned that there were many highly dangerous spells, not just the one shot kill that was the killing curse, Avada Kedavra.

He wondered if he really ought to bother with learning these 'combat spells'. He doubted they could beat jutsu. And he instinctively knew that a Suiryudaan (water dragon) could outrun a killing curse, though how he knew was another question. Speaking of killing curses, he had received his scar at the hands of magic, so perhaps there was a way to spell it away? He really didn't like having that mark on his forehead. Like his glasses, they were a simple means of identifying him. And maintaining a henge 24/7 was not his idea of a perfect plan. On second thought, he could now just pay for plastic surgery...

XXX

After the thought provoking visit to get robes, Harry was pleasantly surprised when he was led to a bookshop. Flourish and Blotts, as the sign announced, seemed to be the average bookshop. It was likely that the basic things he would need to learn, like customs, practices, jargon – all the details that made infiltration easier would be found in this one place if he looked really hard. Muggleborns used this place too, and it was likely that they would stock books that would both help in assimilation and was a sure seller, especially to such an established and self replenishing customer base. All he would have to do would be send a henged clone. A quick illusion, a handseal or two later, a nondescript eleven year old was headed towards somebody who could help. Said clone was also carrying quite a few of the galleons that Harry had been carrying. Meanwhile Harry hurried to get the books he would need. Ten minutes later, several books that had not been on the school list were safely sequestered in storage scrolls. By the memories he had received, he had exactly what he would need. Besides, he could always come back later...

The apothecary was a very smelly place – one that Harry's sensitive nose seemed to take particular offense to. There were too many rotten smells to handle and Harry had finally given up after all of 5 seconds and plugged his nose with chakra. He felt instantly better, though his companion seemed to find the whole shop distasteful. He couldn't say he really blamed her. After all, the very labels were indicative of the body parts that stocked the place. Harry mused that if ever they changed the name, mortuary would fit the place much better than apothecary ever did. He also took a note to self to get used to the smell of death and decay. A near silent voice in his head muttered 'first kill' but Harry put it away for now.

The last store, as was appropriate, was the wand shop. Ollivander's, as the board said looked quite the worse for wear. The dust that coated the place did nothing to raise his opinion of the store. Yet for some reason, it occurred to him that it was a representation of how the wizarding world was still stuck in the past, and for not moving a long time, it had a layer of dust on it to boot. This trip was making his thoughts go in weird ways, some of it actually useful. Perhaps there was something more to this magic business than he had first considered. Now that was an original thought...

An old man, who he assumed was Ollivander, strode in looking at him with beady eyes. It looked particularly unnerving, or at least would have been, if he wasn't looking at him as if he some new museum exhibit. After a few seconds of mutual staring which McGonagall was looking at with pursed lips, Ollivander turned to the professor. Deciding, that looking around at the shop was not going to hurt him any, he began to try and get a feel for the chakra in the shop. Magic and chakra were different, that he knew, but there was bound to be some relation. After all, he was by now pretty sure by now that neither his parents nor anyone else in this crazy world had no clue how to use or develop chakra. That was all Harry, and from an idea in a book no less. No, he had started with magic, but he had been using chakra. There was some connection here, but he just couldn't put a finger on it...

McGonagall looked at Harry as Ollivander asked about her wand. He seemed in great thought, and she could only wonder what his mental state would be at the end of the day, especially considering that he had begun from a firm 'magic is false' perspective. The poor boy was going to have one hell of a headache.

He was shaken out of his musings by an amused looking Ollivander, who appeared to be shaking him by the arm. Harry was annoyed that he didn't have the awareness that he ought have developed at this point, but put it away in favor of finishing this business first. There was always more time for training later.

Harry let Ollivander drone on about wands, and then patiently waved each and every wand that Ollivander thrust into and then took from his hand. He was able to follow the small frown and the excited gleam in his eyes that seemed to magnify slowly as each wand was eliminated. In a way, it was fascinating to watch.

Finally, Ollivander muttered an "I wonder" and went to the back, bringing with him a box that contained a single wand. "Holly and eleven inches, with a single pheonix feather" the reverence and the curiosity in his voice was scarcely less apparent. And, obliging the man, Harry gave a swish.

The feeling was quite light. He felt happy, and the song that seemed to fill his ears expressed a joy that could not be put to words. It was quite worrying. Mind control was looking like a reality in the magical world, absence of a Yamanaka clan notwithstanding. That would be something to confirm later. For now, he would come back to the present.

Ollivander looked at him excitedly. "Ah, it seems we have found your wand! Take care of it sir, and it will take care of you. That will be seven Galleons. It is curious though..."

Harry however did not ask him about that. There was a dark feeling inside him. The wand had made him experience something quite amazing. But if magic could create such genjutsu like effects, there was such a great deal of preparation to be done. His very combat effectiveness was under question here. Thankfully, he had books to at least help. And intelligence was what he should concentrate on now. Magic could not remain the unknown entity.

He laid seven gold coins on the tab and walked out the door, muttering a hurried thank you. His elation was all but gone. McGonagall found him outside the store, standing still with eyes closed. She did not know what had occurred, but he looked a bit uncomfortable, and worried?

"Are we done for today professor?"

"Mostly, yes. There are just a few more things I need to inform you."

The rest of the 'things' were the important, if minor details he would need to remember, like the train ticket, how to get on the platform, where to get a postal owl if he had more questions...stuff.

As he returned home, he mused on exactly how he could use the knowledge he had just been made aware of. It would seem that he would have to dust off his books on dealing with people. This was one infiltration and assimilation mission he would complete to perfection.

Harry sat in his room, writing. He had stuff to do. He was rich, which helped. He was famous, possibly influential. And he had new goals and new means to achieve them. Now he could finally do the things he'd really wanted, with money that he could spend. Yes things were going to change, again...and he had a month to make those changes. Harry smiled.

XXX

Dumbledore looked at his deputy as she walked into his office. This time, he had set the gargoyle aside before she even came near his office. There was no telling how she would react to his 'fun' today.

She sat in and without the headmasters prompting, stuffed a lemon drop in her mouth. Then she looked straight at him.

"Headmaster, do you happen to have a bottle of firewhiskey here?"

Dumbledore gaped.

XXX

A/N: ohayo!

Well, I've tried to make up for my delay in the previous chapter. Hope I've done well.

Harry's going to Hogwarts! Dream come true...and now the story can really start. More involvement from my oc's, actual fighting...all and more in coming chapters.

I've tried to show a Harry with a scrambled brain. Suddenly confronted by the magical world, he loses a bit of his innate shinobiness for a while as he tries to cope with all these facts flooding him. He'll be back to normal next chapter. And possibly in the all ninja mode as he becomes serious

As to why McGonagall, I figured that Dumbledore wouldn't send the big hearted but slightly thick Hagrid to pick up Harry, considering that Harry seemed to need convincing about magic. Hagrid isn't supposed to do magic after all. And well, McGonagall was just plain interesting for this

Thanks to all the people who read and review my story, you inspire me and motivate me into writing. And as always,

PLEASE REVIEW!


	7. Chapter 7

I got lost on the road of life. But then I found this signboard with directions! I followed the directions for days until I realised that the sign was upside down! so I went back fixed the sign and finally got back! I'm awesome!

Anyway, sorry bout the delay...it's exam season, so a bit sluggish here. Anyways enjoy!

Disclaimer: don't own anything. 'Nuff said.

The Leaky Cauldron was quiet. It was not something that Tom the bartender really got used to.. After the rush that lasted from the middle of July to its end aka the great 'Hogwarts Rush', Diagon Alley experienced a lull of such bizarre proportions that it was impossible to believe that the magical population of a city shopped here. It was just so plain odd to see the commercial sector look like a ghost town, not that any ghost found fit to haunt the alley. But it was disquieting...especially for several shopkeepers, who found no logic in why even the normal customers stayed away after the 'Hogwarts Rush'. Of course, that somebody actually applied logic here is another matter.

The pub, rather, _his_ pub was quite an important place, and Tom felt that as the one place that practically every magical human in Britain had surely gone to, at least once(not even Hogwarts could claim that) meant that he should have at least some company in here all the time. He felt that to have the place so empty and lifeless was decidedly ill fitting. Not that he'd ever admit that. He considered this place as just that important. Barkeeps after all have secret opinions, just like everyone else.

No, he decided what he really wanted was excitement, something extraordinary that just livened up the place from its current tomb like atmosphere, like what had drawn him to this place and this quiet work, to meet new people, to greet old ones, to...

A black cloaked, but otherwise nondescript man walked in, waved casually at him and was gone to the back. Then ten seconds later, an identical black nondescript man walked over and went to the back. It might have been said they were twins, but the way he walked was identical to that of his predecessor. And just as he was about to write it off as idle day dreaming, a third one walked in and repeated the actions of his predecessors. The scary thing was, Tom didn't know that face(and he never forgot a face), they walked in such a way that it might as well have been a magical photograph, and well, the dark cloak was even now just striking him as having resembled the ones death eaters used.

Tom straightened up, walked to the back and opened a bottle of Ogden's finest. He was definitely going to need this more than anyone else. "To hell with excitement!" was the last anyone would have heard, if the cauldron had customers.

Harry watched Tom's actions carefully, from his place on the bar stool. Then he took out a paper scroll, and carefully wrote out his observations for the test in the strokes that were characteristically Japanese. It was really to be expected. But then, he had pulled a minor genjutsu in the bookstore and nobody had been any wiser. It was rash and he had momentarily forgotten about the test, which he had just conducted. It was a good thing too. He could only imagine what would happen if his genjutsu was discovered, or worse they were ineffective. Now it was still not a very conclusive experiment. He still didn't know if the more powerful wizards/witches, of the ilk of the dark lord and Dumbledore were immune to the illusions that he was by now bandying about less and less frequently. He still didn't have the absolute control, that he imagined he would eventually develop. He was growing, his chakra was growing and all the control exercises he did was meant to let him _keep up_ with his growth rate. If the disparity got much larger, he wouldn't be able to cast any genjutsu – a most frightening thought.

As he walked into the alley, he was struck with how dull the place looked right now. Unaware that he had been channeling Tom, he created six shadow clones and henged them into nondescript wizards and witches. Well, henge was not the word really. He called it the shadow jacket. A chakra construct that, mimicked a shadow clones matrix onto his skin. It was a solid form, and because it drew chakra from his own coils(or that of the shadow clone using it), it was not dispelled so easily. And for his clones, that meant that their forms would be dispelled only if the main structure of the clone dispelled, ie with a death blow. Such a useful innovation that.

The disguised clones already knew what they were supposed to do, so they left, to explore the alley more thoroughly. Harry himself headed to Gringotts. He had money to manage.

The activity that took place at the entrance of Diagon Alley, did not go entirely unnoticed. There was after all one old man who had been monitoring what he thought of as a mysterious energy signature at a distance. So it was quite a shock for Takeda, who was meditating to feel an enormous surge of that energy so close by, probably just next door in Diagon. It was time to see what exactly this 'source' was.

He turned to the other two in the room, who were looking at him curiously. "Prepare yourselves, we must be off. Tell the others". And so they were off.

A few minutes later, five Japanese shinobi sat crouched on the roof of the weapons store, in formation. They all were in 'pursuit' configuration, minimal weaponry and armor, used for scouting, tracking and of course pursuit. They could all sense it somewhat, the distinct twinge of the mysterious energies that their senses existed. At the same time, what they were feeling was not something they had felt before. If they absolutely had to describe it, they might have called it sorcery's creepy cousin. It was quite overwhelming for a second though, as they got used to it. It was not hostile, but it did seem to have a warning inside. They prepared for battle.

Takeda looked at the ninja behind him out of the corner of his eyes. They were not fresh rookies. They already had a good service record before they were even considered for duty outside the eastern territories, never mind the long term outpost in London. They were assassins and warriors. Whatever the situation they would be able to deal with it more efficiently than he could, if he needed it. For now, they would content themselves to observing the what or who that was causing this...disturbance.

When they got the nod from Takeda that they were waiting for, they took off. The first part would be to check all the places as quickly as possible. On the second run, they would actively try to sense if anyone in their assigned area had the _feel_ that they were looking out for. Then they would converge on the place where they had discovered the anomaly. That was basically the gist of what they were attempting to do. It was borrowed from that of a search and retrieve mission, but it was not like they had a standard operating procedure concerning anomalies.

In ten minutes one had locked on to an ordinary looking wizard who seemed to be looking at the wares of an apothecary with a great deal of boredom. Following protocol, he immediately called in the others. When they got there,he did seem to do a slight bit of shifting, something that only Takeda noticed. So, to see what they could find, he tried the diplomatic approach.

Harry's clone was not sure what to do. He could literally feel the people who were watching him, a slight ticklishness that was present only when he was being scrutinized by someone that he couldn't see directly. But what really raised his curiosity was the fact that they were on surrounding rooftops and seemed to be quite different from the wizarding folk he had seen so far. For a start, they were leaking killing intent. Secondly, they were on the rooftops. They were all tense, from the way their abnormally large chakra signatures(at least, compared to the rest of humanity he had seen) were flaring, much like his did when he was in the 'zone' so to speak. He himself was a clone, so he had no problem sacrificing himself if necessary by exploding, or going on a kamikaze run. But attacking first in a situation which he did not know the entire circumstances of, could be disastrous. Especially considering that not only did he not know how skilled these people were in combat, he was not sure how he could hold off all _five_ of them as well, and at the same time, there was no surety if the original was also being tracked/followed. And in any case, revealing _any_ of his capabilities without his having expressly planned for it was a very bad idea. He knew very well how important even the smallest amount of information could be used against you. And even if they would have no way to connect anything with 'Harry Potter', the very knowledge that such abilities exist was a dangerous prospect. And who knew if these people were just curious because he was here on an otherwise dead day? After all, they were quite skilled at hiding, much like a ninja ought be really...

That thought brought the clones thoughts to a halt. It couldn't be ninja...could it? He had specifically looked for any mention of them and had hit a brick wall. There was practically nothing on Japan. For all he knew, there might not have been any magical people in Japan. But there was. A book on quidditch, which seemed to be some sort of insanely popular sport ('played on brooms! Honestly...') mentioned that "... The small and intensely private wizarding community in Japan fields a national team, which has won...", which only really told him that Japan had an isolationist community, which was not really odd considering the quirks he noticed in the rest of the magical world. And he still didn't know if there were ninja or not.

But the possibility that these were ninja, and that too ones that could use magic was disquieting. He had no information, and that made this dangerous all on its own. And then he noticed that one of them was moving towards him. A quick glance told him the new individual was a somewhat old man, and was wearing otherwise unremarkable wizarding wear. But he was clearly oriental, with piercing eyes and leaking sporadic bursts of unfocused killing intent. Harry wondered for a bit if they had means to magically alter their appearance, a charm or transfiguration of some sort, but then shelved the thought. It didn't really change the immediate situation. 'So they want to talk' he mused.

Takeda observed his target as he moved closer to the store. The man inside was clearly looking at him, and seemed quite curious at him as well. He wondered for a brief instant if all hell really would break loose. But he stifled the thought. Negotiation began with a firm belief that you yourself held the cards. It was time to see if he really did have them.

Takeda decided to go for the casual approach. They worked best when the other fellow was neutral or at the very least not-openly-hostile. So, he took a deep breath and approached the stranger.

"Ah, good afternoon sir, I was wondering if you might join me in a bit of friendly conversation?"

'Interesting choice of words' Harry's clone thought. He also noted a lack of accent in his words-the old man sounded like an excited BBC newscaster. 'Maybe he really isn't Japanese?'

"Of course! But if I may enquire, what shall we talk about? I mean, this is the first time I' met you... And I do not even know your name..."

"Yes yes, you make a good point. My name is Takeda Suzuki. I have a few minor questions that I'm sure you can answer for me..."

Suzuki was the name he used on infiltration missions into the 'normal' world. In Hakumei, you didn't have a clan name. Hakumei was the only family there was. Especially considering a good deal of them were orphans.

Harry nodded and smiled. "I see. And my name is Anakin Skywalker. So shall we go outside then? The fumes of an apothecary can be quite distracting."

"Indeed."

Takeda and Harry(clone) walked quietly and at a very sedate pace towards what Harry vaguely realized was Knockturn alley. The clone surmised that it was going to be quite interesting to see what kind of shops existed here. He hadn't gone to Knockturn, preferring to go there when it was crowded. Though, he did note that even on this day, when Diagon was for all intents and purposes empty, the clone noted that Knockturn still had a visible population in the alley here. Apparently, whatever seemed to freeze Diagon had not affected Knockturn much. Or it could be that the adage that crime never sleeps applied to the magical world as well. But it also afforded cover. So, clone as he was, he flared his chakra, telling his creator, wherever he was that his clone was in a situation that necessitated the presence of he original. It felt good that he had already practiced with clones for scenarios like these.

Takeda blinked when he once more felt that mysterious energy, this time rising from his companion and washing right through him. It was a signal or a warning, he realized. But who could he be signaling? Takeda suddenly regretted not letting his team continue to sweep the alley. If there were more of...them out there, he really needed to know. He was a ninja, a master of information gathering. And here he was having made a rookie mistake, one he had consciously let pass. He noticed that the rather plain wizard he was guiding was looking at him, only he was looking ahead and most certainly not _at_ him. But somehow he knew that the man was staring right into his very soul. He shook his head, relieved when the feeling disappeared, confirming that it was merely his imagination. Harry on the other hand, had a different line of thought. 'so, he can resist minor genjutsu that are not focused directly on him...I wonder how far his apparent immunity will extend.'

The clone however sensed that Harry was heading towards him at him and was very close. And almost immediately felt the tug that meant that he was the target of a kawarimi, a replacement jutsu. Seeing that he really had no other purpose, the clone dispelled himself, sending his memories into the head of his creator.

Harry staggered momentarily. The clone data had hit him right as he was finishing the jutsu and was now giving him a dull throb that from experience, he knew took half a minute to disappear, though it was only because the clone had been forced to do a lot of independent thought. It made the incoming information that much more important to assimilate and analyze, so the brain went a bit sluggish at that point. His new "friend" Takeda Suzuki however tensed ever so slightly. It was not unknown to have someone attack you when all the warning you had was something as minor as (what appeared to be) a headache or a simple tripping motion.

"Are you all right Mr Skywalker? You look a bit dazed?"

Harry smiled. "Its nothing. Just a mere headache, nothing to worry about. May I know where we shall be holding our _minor conversation_?"

Takeda nodded."I own an establishment in Knockturn, one that deals in eastern blades. Its more of a family relic than anything else these days"

Harry nodded. It was actually a reasonable answer. It wasn't out of place in the midst of the other crazy tidbits all around him. Though, even a 5 year old would have caught on to the very very odd way this "meeting" had gone. Well, he would soon be seeing soon for himself. Idly, he tracked the other four who were still following him(or was it the old man?) on the rooftops. They were doing it quickly and quietly, moving without drawing any attention to themselves at all. Harry was reasonably impressed. At least this lent credence to the theory that they were ninja. This was going to be very interesting, or very dangerous.

The shop was ironically quite similar to what Harry expected. There was a sign, so faded that he couldn't see what was written on it. There was a glass display that was quite full of swords and daggers, at least 20 of them all unsheathed for the world to see. When Takeda led him inside, he found the same gloomy tones that pervaded the rest of the alley. He mentally shook himself. He sat by the door and waited for his 'guide' to speak. While normally he would not have even considered going into an unknown building, especially with the hint of danger that was there, he was truly curious. And he also had the explosive tag equivalent of a directional charge on the door. Any funny business and the old man would be left with a bigger entrance than he would have preferred.

Takeda looked at his guest with a smile. He was actually surprised to see that the man had come straight in with no regard for a trap. His confidence meant he either had a foolproof method of escape or he was very stupid. And considering that he had some sort of mysterious power at his disposal, he was not particularly sure which he would prefer. Malfoy, was a predictable entity with known abilities, linear thought patterns and a very limited set of probable actions to a given situation. This one was none of those. He decided to take the first step.

"So Mr. Skywalker, I hope you can clear some things for me?"

Harry nodded. "Ask away, and I shall answer as much as possible"

Takeda smiled. "You see, a half hour ago, I was sitting in my shop here and I was quite shocked to feel this very mysterious energy from close by. I couldn't help but be curious, so I went in search of what or who was responsible. That's how I found you actually. Could you please tell me what I felt was?"

Harry was unsure if he was supposed to be banging his head on the wall or just plain shocked. Who went for direct in situations like these?('and what _do_ you call a situation like this I wonder?') honestly? Not that he showed it of course. He was way too careful for that. But then again, you could never really be sure...

Takeda, who was completely focused on finding a reaction, found none. And while he would have preferred some reaction, this lack of reaction was as much of a response as any But then again, this was the look of someone who had seen the play before and was merely waiting for the play to end so he could go home. Takeda felt his heart rate rise just that bit. This was after all how he had felt in his first missions more than three decades ago. Yes, this was what diplomacy was all about, war of the words, and yet more a poker game than a duel.

Harry of course, had no idea what his absolute lack of reaction(all holes had been plugged with his henge) was generating in the mind of his host. He was simply considering what to tell this man, since it was obvious that he had to give him something. He had no idea if the four outside were merely bodyguards or actually here to get at himself. There was no margin for error in a five to one fight, especially with _no_ information about the enemy. No, this was a battle of words and wills, and he would have to win without exposing _any_ of his cards. This was now negotiation by proxy. The best lie however, is 10% truth and 90% misdirection.

"So you can detect it? I was unaware that there were any humans on this planet who could sense such _alien_ energies"

It might have been a totally innocent statement if Harry had not used perfectly cultured Japanese. As such, Takeda had already displayed open shock at _that_.

"Who are you?" Takeda was now quite off balance. He was not really thinking to his best ability at this point. His whisper though had not been meant to be heard.

"I? I am a ninja. The question I would like answered is, _Who are you?_"

(A/N: mind you, this last sentence sounds a whole lot cooler when its in Japanese and the words gets drawn out)

Takeda steeled himself. A ninja was not actually a very strange thing, even in these parts. Every year, rookies were sent on fact finding missions to countries with no permanent ninja outposts. It was not only an easy mission to accomplish, it helped the new person get that first look at how to do missions in general. Things like reports, proper behavior, acclimatisation to new cultures, and the other almost subconscious things that they needed to develop. Indeed, every clan worth their salt had ninja all over the place. Besides, nobody wanted a repeat of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, where two clans were wiped out, without a soul being aware until it was too late. The fires of Amaterasu burned all too bright that day.

The other disquieting issue was that every other clan worth informing had been politely informed that Hakumei had set up base in England, in a 'so please try not to interfere, thank you very much!' kind of way. It was inconceivable that if this was a shinobi, he would not know who he was. Takeda of the Snow was quite well known, not to mention any ninja here would have been informed about the outpost and its commander in case they had a cause for distress. Ninja clans were quite cooperative in those matters, at least on foreign soil. They were one of a kind after all.

That made this a rogue shinobi, a nukenin. And he knew of none that were still alive. They were hunted down mercilessly after all. And the prospect of a nukenin with any kind of power, especially the unknown kind was very very wrong. Not to mention, he could not comprehend how such a new ability could be kept under wraps to be developed to the stage this fellow was actively using it without any bother.

"Are you nukenin? Which clan are you from? And why do you not know who I am then?" Takeda fired away, keeping one hand on the hidden blade that he carried, a tanto that was easily one of his best weapons, especially in enclosed spaces like his shop. All ninja were profficient in close quarters combat.

Harry laughed. He waved his hands in a manner at once placating and non threatening and mirthfully replied, in English, "_Nukenin? _Good heavens no! I'm merely someone who doesn't really belong in this world...So you really are ninja! I must admit, I was disappointed when I couldn't find any mention of ninja in the mediocre books here. Why the very idea! I'm quite glad I met you, _Suzuki Takeda,_ whatever your real name is. I am glad I found you or is it vice versa? And thank you for telling me about detecting me, I shall be more careful in the future. And tell your friends that they ought to be a bit more careful about concealing themselves. It won't do to get found out that easily. Sayonara Takeda san, We must meet up again sometime!" and then, just like that, he vanished.

Takeda blinked. He had not expected to have things end in this manner at all. Never mind having his 'guest' disappear without leaving any trace as to how he accomplished that. It was down right annoying. Though, he did admit internally that he was a bit relieved all the same. He didn't really want a high profile battle, as this might just have turned out, just as he was setting up base. He shook himself, signaling the men outside and summoned them in. There was no reason to keep them out. He had a bit of thinking to do.

Harry on the other hand was in an even more stressed out state. He was not sure if he could count on getting away with a battle-less escape the next time. there were too many unknowns to make any sort of accurate prediction. It was bad enough that he had gone into the situation without a bit more forethought. He could have made a clone, summoned an already created one, _run_. Anything was better than having jumped in head first. For now he was counting his blessings that these new age ninja were a bit susceptible to genjutsu. otherwise, they would have clearly noticed him running, as if the very hounds of hell pursued him.

It would only be hours later that both combatants would realize exactly how ridiculous their conversation should have sounded to anyone else. Thinking too much had meant that they were behaving very little like the ordinary people they were trying to portray.

Harry however felt that he had accomplished a great deal. He had asked for, and was given his vault key by McGonogall when he had gone home from Diagon last time. This meant that he had been able to access his vault freely and without any trouble whatsoever. He had also taken the time to read up on what constituted goblin finance.

He was utterly unimpressed. However, he did note that there was a lot of measures the goblins had taken the effort to improve their ability to do commerce with the non-magical world. They even had a dummy bank through which money could be freely routed to and from the muggle worlds, at a price of course. It was through this that Harry was going to act.

Harry had capital. Plenty of it. This meant that he had a means of creating money from what he already had. In the words of J.R.R Tolkien, gold breeds gold. And the non magical world seemed to have plenty of areas which seemed to do nothing but growth(*cough*computers*cough*). It was, he decided, time to do some investing. It was a really good thing, that the great Daniel had recommended a guy that was very good at what he did. It was also very convenient that Harry was very adept at not being a fool off. Whatever Richards might have said, if this new guy tried anything, Harry would take the pain to make sure that he would never try anything again. He already had one person who had "seen the light" thanks to him, and he didn't mind setting a confirmed thief to rights, if he was one of course.

As Harry got home though, he resolved to get himself a proper weapon. Suddenly his wind chakra channeling, seal reinforced bokken and pilfered kitchen knives seemed so much more inadequate. It was time to find a blacksmith. Or at the very least, a sword. So he opened his aunts yellow pages, looking for something that was useful. And lo and behold! His attention was caught by the most beautiful box he had ever seen, a listing for reproduced blades(as opposed to replica). With a gleam in his eye, he reached for the phone...

In the mean time, one of the ninja who had been part of the London base had been sent of to personally report to headquarters. In other words, it was something that could not be said in mere words on paper.

The report as delivered was fairly straight forward. The ninja, Taka, an excellent tracker, reported everything that had occurred, to warrant this personal report, namely the unknown nin. A transcript of the conversations, and a basic overview of the chronology of events were given. And finally, he gave the other more ordinary information that would have been part of the regular report. At the end, he bowed out and retired for the day..

Hayate, the leader of Hakumei as it were, had looked over his man critically. As a rule, he hated personal reports. They tended to reduce the strength of a forward outpost and by proxy, weakened them, especially when said outposts had just five men to start with. Assaults on ninja outposts by opportunistic sorcerers had reinforced his view that the best report was the one that was encrypted and on paper. But he couldn't deny the fact that this was quite a spanner in the works. The unknown always tend to stab you from behind. There were exactly 34 missions he had undertaken that confirmed that fact. There were also 7 bodies from these missions that had driven it into his skull that there was nothing more indicative of disaster than an unknown entity. And as far as unknown entities went, this was one of the least defined.

There were several things that he had noted as of importance. Firstly, there was an unknown energy/power/ability at work that was apparently the exact one that his lieutenant, Takeda had failed to track. Secondly, this person had somehow managed to disappear from a closed building while being monitored by _five_ of his best ninja, one of them the third best tracker in the entire ninja population of Japan. It was inconceivable, simply inconceivable. Especially considering that he did not use any ninja ability that they had ever seen before. At the same time, he had remarked on the four who were following them, though it could not be said from when he had known. It was entirely possible that the stumble he had displayed was merely shock at finding himself followed.

The man, who called himself "Skywalker" seemed to have no clue about ninja. The name itself was odd. It had taken Takeda a full day before he had figured out that the name had been taken out of a mundane 'science fiction' movie. What business did this self proclaimed ninja have to associate with mundanes? Was he a long term plant that had gone 'native'? However that still didn't explain the new kind of power...

And that would have still meant knowledge of ninja. But that was apparently not the case. In fact, he seemed to be quite pleased at the fact that ninja existed. A magic user(why else was he in that alley?), who spoke Japanese quite fluently and had not heard of the present day ninja? It was as worthy of research as the power he wielded. On the other hand, he had said that _he didn't belong in this world_. What world was he talking about? Ninja? Magical? Wizarding(in particular)? Or even the planet(as the word really ought to mean)? There was definitely a whole lot of uneasy blanks to be filled here. But onto matters that could be solved...

"Taka-"

"Yes Hayate sama!"

"Tell Takeda that he will need to look out for seven of ours who will soon be there to reinforce his position. I will also be sending Tetsuya along with the others for his assigned mission. Inform that _Englishman_ that he will need to make the arrangements. As for the other matter, take full precautions. And make sure that nobody goes out to look for our latest guest. I trust the sensors that we have been supplied with will be more than up to the task. And London is now on full arsenal. So make sure that anybody outside is in full combat gear. Finally, you and Kenji are now going to scout that forest in Scotland next to that school. You will be the ones to keep an eye on that headmaster. That's all for now". And then he made a shooing motion, sending his soldier hurtling out of the room. It seemed that plans would have to wait.

A week before school started, Lucius Malfoy was duly informed of the fact that his associates required his help to enroll a Japanese wizard into Hogwarts. As a member of the board, he had the capability to request such a thing of the headmaster, who he knew wouldn't mind a foreign wizard taking his classes. Lucius had once had a very irrational dream in which Dumbledore was more of a dark lord than his master could ever hope to be. Ironically, this same stupid thought had helped him deal with the old coot much better, while also making him more and more warier. But in any case, this was not something he could put off, so he flooed into the headmasters office right after his letter was received.

"Lucius! I was not aware you would be dropping in at this time, is there something the matter?"

Lucius nearly gagged at the sigtht and then straightened to 'full pureblood mode' which was what a muggleborn might have called the imposing transition. It was time to repay another of his latest debts. And he was not above grovelling, even if it was said 'a Malfoy never bows'. He had done plenty of it in front of his master back in the day.

"Headmaster, I was just made aware that a relative of a Japanese friend of mine has expressed a desire that their son study in Hogwarts. As they are somebody I am quite close to, I was hoping that you could enroll him, even if its this late. Call it a personal favor to me, if you must, headmaster."

Albus Dumbledore could scarcely keep himself from gaping. The most influential pureblood (and death eater) in England had just begged him for a personal favor. And before he could even offer a lemon drop in return no less! The cogs in his head however, were already turning. He weighed the offer mentally. If this was a favor that would cover a show of support on the next pro muggle wizengamot bill. Besides, this person, whoever they were, was very important. Deciding instantly that somebody who had such a hold on this man needed to be watched, he smiled and nodded. This was an opportunity, one with a humbled Malfoy to boot.

"Of course Lucius! I wouldn't dream of denying anyone the opportunity to study in this fine castle. Can you tell me how old this boy is? it will take a little change in the normal ceremony if he is older than eleven..."

"Eleven, headmaster. Just eleven. I imagine he will get along fine with Draco."

There was something off when Lucius said this, and Dumbledore filed it away for later.

"Excellent! Excellent! I will do the needful. So if you could kindly give me a name?"

Dumbledore raised his spectacles, waiting for the revelation of the name of he who was above Malfoy, he whose father caused a Malfoy to _beg_.

"The boys name is Tetsuya Watanabe, the nephew of Shizuka Watanabe, the Japanese national seeker"

At least, Dumbledore was somewhat prepared for the jaw dropping revelation this time around this time around...

Kings Cross was a very busy place. And on this day, come September, was especially filled with the weird and asinine. Well it had to be if entire families of cross dressers turned out in droves and kept disappearing right in front of your eyes. So it was perhaps a good thing for the ordinary folk of London that there was a very vague enchantment that kept the 'regulars' distracted from the candidate for a magic trick that was happening right around them.

And Harry Potter sauntered through the place looking like...somebody absolutely normal. He had a t shirt and a pair of jeans and walked through the barrier to 9¾ without a care in the world. And he didn't, because he was a clone. The real Harry was already inside, and simply observing, as he had been doing for three hours now. And there was still an hour to go before the train was due to depart. It was all in all a very interesting wait, considering that he was standing still for three hours now. He was devouring the sights that were the average Joe wizard and Jane witch. And nothing said infiltration better than average.

There were a lot of blondes. That was one thing he noticed. Platinum blond, yellow blond, dirty blond, not nearly blond enough...he was one of the rare non blondes in the equation. He also noticed that there was a family with 'head on fire' red hair, which if nothing else was entertaining to see. Harry was also taking mental notes on what people were chatting about. Nothing made you fit in more than the informed opinion. And you didn't even have to know much. Spout an opinion, any opinion among 'fellow believers' and you get immediately elevated to the status of friend/comrade. It worked for soccer, and practically every other team sport, so it was a guaranteed universally effective tactic. And it might even work with that crazy sport they played on 'brooms'.

And then his thought were interrupted, by the sight of a old man who was leading a boy into the platform. It might have been nothing to bother with, but then both of them were looking at everyone quite speculatively, assessing for threats when on the outside, they looked like a grandfather here to see grandson off. The larger than normal chakra and the sporadic, unfocussed killing intent was also quite the tip off. As was the obvious oriental faces and specifically, the face of somebody he had been introduced to very recently as Suzuki Takeda. Harry simply up and went, towards them, sharpening his senses by that much. As he neared, he recognized the wisps of rapid Japanese being spoken, quietly. He also noticed that they had noticed him, but didn't pay attention because frankly, even if you did know Japanese, this conversation was going too fast for normal people to comprehend.

" - and you are to keep up daily contact as ordered. Taka will be there to relay anything of importance that you discover. Make sure to keep your head down. You have been instructed to go into Hufflepuff. And remember to maintain an accent. It wouldn't do to lose your cover on your first mission!"

"Of course Takeda sama. And what shall we do about this peasant who is so inconveniently eavesdropping on us?"

"Nothing. If he proves to be-"

That sentence never got completed because Harry at that moment decided that there was enough people to cover his reunion. He didn't think that any ninja would try to force a battle in a civilian area, especially if they didn't want their cover blown, as this conversation was hinting. He decided to take the plunge.

"Ohayo Takeda san! Why do you talk of me like this behind my back? And after you invited me into your store too! Why, I'm insulted! Its like you don't think much of me!"

The two Japanese fellows looked dumbstruck, though it was only because Harry was looking for the signs, the little twitches that betrayed their internal turmoils that he noticed at all. For some reason, he just _knew_ this impromptu scheme was better off if he sounded insane.

Tetsuya, the boy was shocked. This was the man who had caused the ruckus at the outpost? This frail looking man was in command of mysterious power that had been able to evade the eagle eyes of Taka? It had to be a joke. Then again, he shouldn't really have been able to understand what the two ninja were saying, even if he was fluent in the language. They _were_ talking faster than was humanly possible (literally), at least for normal humans. There had to be some mistake. He tensed a little, prepared to do whatever was necessary. But first, he had to see how Takeda reacted. He was the senior ninja, and a negotiator to boot. For now, he was better off following the older mans lead.

Takeda on the other hand didn't seem to be concerned, but that was a lie. He was quite wary. Even if this was the same "Skywalker" he had talked to, there was no way that he should know of the two of them being here. Was there a leak? Was this man an enemy? There was no way that the same guy could be here the first time that he had stepped out of the shop after that incident. No it couldn't be coincidence either. Could it?

"What do you want, san? Can I not send off my family to school? Why must you plague me so?"

Harry flared a bit of chakra. He had been careful to constantly conceal his chakra signature after that day and knew that the only way they could be sure this was him was if they sensed it for themselves.

The feeling was there for but a second, and both ninja caught it. There was no doubt that this was the same power that had been encountered that day. But why was he here anyway?

"I assume that I have cleared your doubt of who I am. I am not here to fight you. I do not wish to fight you. I want to learn more about the ninja of this world. I don't care if you are here to invade the country or not, as long as you leave me alone. And if you send an assassin to school, I wont complain, unless it directly affects me in any way. I just came here to bid you good day. Surely the great Suzuki san is not averse to that?"

The last part was in quite the mocking tone.

Takeda was not sure what to make of all this, so he merely snorted lightly as a response. He relaxed a bit, even if not by much. And following his cue, the boy also relaxed his guard, by moving his hand an inch more away from a hidden wakizashi.

"Relax! I'm unarmed see?" and Harry waved his hands up and down at his sides, for effect.

That didn't do much. Though he did get another snort for his troubles.

"Fine! I can see when I'm not wanted! Fat lot of good you blokes are! Ninja indeed..."

The mysterious ninja visibly pouted. And with that, Takeda and his comrade was once again treated to the sight of a disappearing act that used _that_ power.

"Takeda san! Is he gone?"

Tetsuya was quite unsure as to exactly what he should be doing. This whole thing was a bit...unreal. And the way this guy was going all relaxed and seemingly unguarded over _known ninja_ was rubbing him entirely wrong. He felt quite glad that he was leaving and would not be stuck writing another reality bending report to Hayate sama. Who knew how their leader would react to this...this incident?

Takeda sighed and relaxed. He felt reasonably sure the man was gone so he turned to the child beside him.

"Tetsuya kun, if you ever meet him again, flee. It does not matter if he is on the brink of death. Simply flee. I once read that only the truly strong can remain eccentric and still live to fight. And somebody as _unsound_ as him even I would not care to face. For now, we will let him be, as ordered. But if he shows up at Hogwarts, retreat and tell Taka. That's an order."

Tetsuya nodded and kept still. If there was something about this guy that freaked out Takeda, he wouldn't dare try his luck. But then, his young blood yearned for battle, to test his mettle, to defeat any opponent he fought. If it came down to it, would he truly run?

There was nothing more to be said. The two parted with a nod, and Tetsuya headed for the train. This was his mission. He would not be caught distracted from the very beginning.

Harry was also walking into the train at the same time. His clone was acting as the "real" Harry, a decoy, while he himself became a nameless child who could rest undisturbed. He wondered if his clone would _really_ be in a situation of any sort but shook himself. People wouldn't really remember something that happened when he was one right? And if he was in a history book, it meant that people tended to forget you exist, right?

Harry's clone cursed himself. Why? He was surrounded by admiring fan-people who were incessantly chattering away at him. He now understood why Sasuke was always brooding. One word and the whole lot would mob him. It was like watching a tripped landmine. The slightest movement could trigger something worse than a detonation.

It was annoying him so much that he was half tempted to blow himself up. Though, he supposed it was a good thing that a clone would dispel only after a killing blow. With all the touching, pinching and handshaking, (not to mention all the weird noises these people were making) he was undergoing, it was a wonder why he still hadn't. His eye twitched as yet another _male_ admirer, this one with red hair came waltzing in and looked at him awestruck. "Blimey! It really is him isn't he..."

Harry's eye was almost seizing. He wasn't sure how much more he could take of this. But then, a devious thought presented itself. If he dispelled, his memories (read every second of current nightmare) would be experienced by his cruel creator (read himself) who had sent him into the wolves den. It was such a pleasant thought, perhaps even better than inflicting a thousand years of pain on his originals rear... Harry wouldn't notice till later just how weird his shadow clones were starting to turn out.

A/N :The Japanese seeker mentioned was the one that was supposedly there in 1994, took it from the harry potter wiki.

And I'm very much happy that Harry is finally heading to Hogwarts! My writing muscle seems to have an ingrained resistance to getting to that point, but I've crossed that river now...

Hope you like the chapter, and where the story is heading. I've mainly focused on the oc's this time, because this will be the frame work by which they will behave in the future. OK so its not a great framework, but hey! Gotta start somewhere...

Your reviews are appreciated. Most of the time, they help me keep up my motivation and also give me ideas I can focus on. And while I cant use some of the more innovative ideas some of you have given, purely because they clash with what I've already planned or have written, it still serves to keep me thinking. So thank you, and keep 'em coming!

I sometimes wish I could write an omake or two, just for the heck of it. But sadly, my 'serious' writing tends to jump in and make my attempts look really really sad... if any of you can think up a good one, I'll post it next chapter!

That's all for now! And as always,

PLEASE REVIEW!


	8. Chapter 8

Nothing to do but think and write

and study too but that just bites

so here I am writing some more

keep reading, there's more in store!

Disclaimer : I don't own Harry Potter...or Naruto...but for some strange reason, I don't...really...mind...

The train rolled out of the station with a great deal of fanfare. There was an incredible amount of noise, partly due to the old school steam engine, and partly due to all the _painful_ separations involving parent and child. It was almost painful to watch. Sometimes, Harry did wonder about his parents. He wondered if he would have turned any different if he did in fact have living loving parents who spoiled him rotten and tried to pawn him off to bouts of childishness. And the conclusion, every time was yes, he would have become _normal._ That probably meant he would have become an average wizard, somebody not well known for giving a rising dark lord an out of body experience, somebody who was not stuck with the label _orphan,_somebody who did not have to live with accursed relatives who possessed the single minded goal of breaking him, and came damn close to it a few times too.

No, he was far better off this way, now that he had the ability to defend himself and the ability to protect whoever he found worth caring for. He was not sure if his parents died in battle with the obviously present superior foe, even if the books vehemently said it. If the only people there were dead, or too young to remember, how did they arrive at the version that, if what he saw of his clones experience(from far far away...) was anything to go by, was embraced wholeheartedly by almost an entire subculture of British society? He was a living legend with absolutely no evidence pointing to how he got there.

As to his parents, merely the order of deaths(parents, then evil wizard) suggested that they had either tried to fight(and fallen) or tried to beg(and were slaughtered) before the dark lord, whose name seemed to have eluded the pen(or should he say quill now?) of multiple authors, had turned to the baby and tried to kill him, with a spell that had backfired...somehow. The books weren't very clear on that part either.

And perhaps that was the main reason he thought the magical world was full of idiots. While even he understood the use of tools(better than most really) to complete a job, why would somebody need too use a spell, that if he understood correctly, was not only difficult to cast, but required you to actively hate your target to a sufficient degree, which when you thought about it, only drove home that this dark lord character was evil...really, who else could hate a cute _baby_(Harry had no doubt he was a cute baby) sufficiently like that enough to kill him? There were so many ways of killing a helpless opponent, like stabbing, strangling, clubbing, decapitating, eviscerating, and of course the spin offs, like crushing, hanging, poisoning, throwing from a cliff, etc that were slight less hands on(Harry wondered if he wasn't a bit mental here...he was talking about killing _himself_ here). And of all these options, that were more efficient(if more messy), he went ahead and did this. Fat lot of good it did him too.

Harry shook his head and went to sleep, producing a shadow clone in the meantime. The clone already knew what to do, so he cloaked himself in genjutsu and planted himself on the roof. It was his job to take care of the original when he was vulnerable like this. It was probably a good thing Harry had a lot of practice sitting still and doing exactly the sort of things he shoved at his clones. Otherwise his clone may have been quite peeved to find his boss pawning off responsibility in this manner. It was an unwritten rule of the awesomeness that was the shadow clone: don't tell it to do anything you couldn't or wouldn't do. They are after all as devious as they their creators, perhaps more so, considering they knew very well that once dispelled, they wouldn't be able to get in trouble for their actions. This was the exact reason that Naruto's clones went on suicidal runs after all. They were by definition immortal, if in a slightly different manner than most might think.

In a very vague manner, shadow clones mimicked the whole god/reincarnation ideal – a part of you was sent of in a body that after its lifetime returned to you, only to be sent off again some other time. It was also the reason that shadow clones received personality. They were in a sense pieces of the jutsu user that were slowly growing independent of him, personality wise - they shared memory after all. Of course, the central Harry was Harry, but the peripheral parts of his brain, from where spawned the minds of clones, were slowly giving him the ultimate version of MPD, not that he knew it either, consciously at least. And it wouldn't have mattered even if it did. The havoc a jutsu wrought...

In a different part of the train, Tetsuya the eleven year old shinobi sat perfectly still. There was something inside him that was restless, and nothing he did helped. Meditation, as annoying as it was hadn't really been any use at all. So he was trying another exercise that was supposed to detect the magical energies around him. It was said that Hayate, his commander, the greatest living master of this art could tell the very elemental makeup of anything in his vicinity. So he was here trying to get his focus to a level greater than what he considered mere meditation. Though, come to think of it, when your eleven, merely sitting still ought to be beyond the scope of your ability. As of now, he simply tried to focus on whatever he could. He was on a magical train, filled with magical people and loaded with spells and enchantments. And he had enough awareness of that from the fact that the mere amount of magical energy that saturated the compartment was enough to get his somewhat insensitive magical detection sense into overdrive. He hoped he wouldn't have to fight here. There was an excellent chance that most of his combat ability was nullified because he was disoriented. And there are no second chances in a real fight.

But thankfully he didn't have to worry about that right now. So he concentrated on emptying his mind till he could sense nothing but magic...and failed miserably. A few more attempts later and the intrepid infiltrator was no closer to achieving anything than he was two months ago. "It seems I will have to find another way of occupying myself...I wish Taka were here. He could at least tell me what I'm doing wrong!"

So, sighing to himself, he left the compartment. He would have to find some first ears to socialize with; it was part of his mission after all. Perhaps the young Malfoy? Or even the Potter, though that one would have to be extremely low key. Potter was an important piece in the British puzzle, or so the elder Malfoy was said to have reported. And he was too high key to associate with without compromising his off the radar status. It was bad enough he had been introduced as family of the Japanese seeker. He could only imagine the headaches to come over a game he didn't play, disliked mildly, and had no practical knowledge off. And Malfoy was an even bigger headache. Lucius had hinted that Tetsuya knew Draco. Yes, it seemed the perfect way to be unnoticed was apparently to be a casual acquaintance to the heir most prominent pureblood bloodline in the country.

Thankfully for him though, there were no horribly fanatic quidditch fans who were connected enough to know that he was the Japanese national seekers "nephew", or pureblood suck-ups out to grab attention. He shook himself. Maybe it was merely too much paranoia? (irrespective of what his superiors would have said about that...) he needed to distract himself, fast.

Completely by coincidence, Tetsuya found himself right outside the compartment holding Harry Potter. There seemed to be a lot of traffic and the noises were literally crushing his hearing. He had subconsciously enhanced his hearing and was paying for it. But he was very curious about the boy they called the Boy-who-lived.

There were few mysteries that could not be explained away in the magical world. At least by the Chinese sorcerers. They had an answer to everything. And when all you really did in your free time was tinker, the sheer volume of discoveries those people made was mind blowing. He could only imagine the lengths the British department of mysteries would go to to get the knowledge the _average_ sorcerer could spout in their sleep. So it was quite shocking to every single ninja there was, who bothered with such things, to learn that nobody knew exactly how the Voldemort character had died. The Chinese were stumped. There was no theoretical precedent. There was no observational evidence to back any of the wildly outlandish theories the ignorant had spread. It would have been less of a headache if that night had found Dumbledore and Voldemort dancing the waltz in front of Nelsons Column in pink tutus. There was something to be said about an the oddity of an event if it left the immortal emperor in his forbidden city scratching his head.

That was not to say there was nothing known about what happened. A few days later, Dumbledore had vaguely mentioned a sacrificial protection of sorts during an interview. That had been enough for them to figure out what may have happened. But it did raise more questions, like what had happened to the self proclaimed dark lords body? And wasn't he supposed to have done all sorts of self mutilating dark arts rituals to grant himself immortality? Or at the very least let him be invincible till his soul "timed out"? It was assumed that the complications were indeed due to the sacrificial magic reacting badly to the potent dark arts rituals that Voldemort had done, something about overenthusiastic spells apparently.

But it in no way reduced the oddity that was Harry Potter. There was no doubt in anyone's mind(again,that were actually interested in weird stuff out west) that the incident had left its mark on him. There was also no doubt that the scar that had been hyped up so much was an interesting magical artifact. Tetsuya wondered if he could get a chance to examine it. He smirked. At the rate his thoughts were going he would end up bosom buddies with somebody just to look up a stupid scar. Oh well, there was only one thing left to do.

"Hi! I'm Tetsuya Watanabe! I'm new here, its nice to meet you!"

Harry Potter, at the moment a pissed off shadow clone, did a double take. This was the ninja that Takeda wanted to send to Hogwarts. Why was he here? And why was he trying to talk to him? Weren't infiltrations supposed to be low key, invincible actions that cast no scrutiny on the infiltrator? How was somebody supposed to do that by associating with an extremely well known, and somewhat revered child hero who was going to be watched (and probably stalked)?

But he had to give it to the 'ninja' he was facing. The way he had done this was flawless. He had practically twirled between three wide eyed and dazed 'fans' and managed to do it without getting a crease on his robes. Then he had smiled disarmingly and subtly shifted his body into a more relaxed and open stance, one that he himself had used to set other people at ease. Then he had introduced himself with a well practiced accent, one that said that he wasn't from here, but also said that he knew the language well enough to fit in and knew his way around. This guy really was good. Now if only he showed some tact, like meeting him in a not so crowded hallway after class for example. On the other hand, he supposed that if the original had not purposely created and dispersed another clone, "Harry" , as a clone would have had no idea that this guy was a ninja. And this approach would have only seemed to complement the 'ordinariness' the infiltrator was trying to project. Amazing really what training could accomplish. Harry took the effort to stamp out the tendrils of jealousy that threatened to rear its ugly head. He would persevere without formal training, as he had done so far.

On the other hand though, there was something about the name...and he got it. Watanabe, quidditch, the connection could not have been more apparent. But then, he actually knew something about Japanese names and so knew that a name like Watanabe was relatively quite common in Japan. On the other hand, considering that Japan was supposed to have a isolationist wizarding community...

"Watanabe...Watanabe...where have I heard that before?"

For a second, Tetsuya panicked. The knowing gleam in Potter's eyes looked disturbingly similar to the one that the unknown ninja had sported when talking to him and Takeda. Then he calmed himself, remembering quite logically that Potter was not the mysterious man, didn't know about his mission and was merely trying to pry without being obvious. He internally smirked at the amateurish ploy. Whatever Potter was, the English boys attempt to prompt him to add something "helpfully" was-

"AHA!"

And then Potter's by now disturbingly gleaming eyes fell on him. Tetsuya suddenly _knew_ that Potter was no ordinary child, that he had immense power and knew all of poor Tetsuya's secrets. And then the feeling, menacing and disturbing as it was, was completely wiped out by what happened next.

Harry jumped up, stood in a ridiculously straight manner(it was after all the closest he could bring himself to a Gai/Lee pose) and pointed at the somewhat sweaty Tetsuya and said, "Your related to the Japanese national Seeker! You must know all the cool moves!" and then he slumped abruptly, as if he was a balloon that had popped. And then as if by design, every single pair of eyeballs in the room, and there were more than a few, all swung onto the somewhat miffed infiltrator. Harry took the time to grin savagely.

Not that anybody noticed. Every single pair of eyes were now riveted on the Japanese boy, who was sweating profusely, feeling a good deal naked, a bit scared and definitely cornered. In fact the distraction was so complete that not a single soul noticed when Harry potter disappeared into the barest traces of smoke. Not that it mattered to Tetsuya, who at the moment was trying (and failing) to make up answers to questions he really didn't know the answer to, or any idea about. What the hell was a wonky feint, or a sloth roll something? And how in kami's name would he know what kind of broom polish the Japanese national team used? And why was he still standing here?

A sleeping Harry was suddenly woken up by the fact that the clone who was acting as himself(why did that sound weird the more he thought of it?) was now not in existence any more. He sighed and winced, realizing that he would now be himself for the rest of the trip. He decided to simply fall asleep, consequences be damned. He was a growing boy dammit! Though he did add a couple more clones to keep him safe. He also mentally thanked the gods that his shadow clones lasted even when he slept. Though the fact that they woke him when dispelled was a welcome addition, at least until the sound of a mouse tiptoeing would wake him up.

When he next woke up, he noticed that a girl was shaking him awake. He wondered, annoyed, why his clones had not reacted. As if on cue, a clone who was perched on the seat opposite, dispersed invisibly, letting him know that she was let through because she had come in and tried to call him, resorting to physically shaking him when that had failed. He also noticed with satisfaction that three clones, invisible as they were, were quite ready to act out in his defense. The paranoia was not really for now though. He was trying to establish a system to keep him safe, for the days when his secret was spilled and people reacted to the unknown and possibly powerful – by assassinating him.

However this for now he was safe and the girl was merely another stranger trying to be nice, probably by waking him up in time for his arrival. So in the half second that these thought rumbled through his head, he slowly began to "wake up".

"Ugh...five more minutes..."

Hermione Granger, first year unsorted student of Hogwarts, chuckled. She had just been passing through, when she spotted a lone sleeping figure in a cabin. She was on her way to inform her new friend Neville Longbottom that the train was going to reach its destination soon, when she spotted him. She paused momentarily, wondering if she should go through, when she shrugged and figured trying to help couldn't hurt. As she pushed the door open, for just a second she faltered, as if somebody was looking at her but shrugged it off and called the figure out.

When a simple call didn't wake him up ('well, he is asleep...') she shook the lying figures shoulder, rather vigorously. And then the boys words brought up a smile. 'A first year, like me' she thought, wondering why he was alone. None of the first years she saw till now were alone. Was he purposely staying away from meeting people? Was he shy? Or did he have a chip on his shoulder? She had seen both kinds of people, and being a bookworm(and proud of it, mostly) she had seen both kinds of people. Something about him seemed quite innocent though, and she felt compelled to do more than mere tell him that they would arrive soon, like introduce herself, or strike up conversation, or make sure he stayed awake. There was something familiar about that face, something she had read not too far back.

"Um, sorry to wake you, but the train is going to get there soon, I've asked the conductor...and you really need to change and get ready"

The boy yawned, stretched a bit and then proceeded to nod sleepily. Hermione hesitated for a second, wondering, for an instant, why she felt compelled to wake him up further _and_ get far far away, all at the same time. But then, she had no idea of the low amounts of killing intent oozing from the ceiling. She brought her hand up slightly, as if to shake him some more, but let it drop. Satisfied that the boy was going to wake up, she swiftly left for the rear, where her new friend was. She could always just meet him later, after classes had started.

A voice echoed through the train, "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately"

Hermione shrugged, as if to point out that this was what she was talking about. She got up and left, though not before throwing one last hesitant look behind. As she walked away though, Harry heard her murmur that she was sure she had read about him.

As soon as she left, Harry bolted awake. There was not much left to do now, but he intended to be ready. A clone that had gone exploring had dispelled while he was 'waking up'. There were apparently many rumors surrounding the sorting. While he was pretty sure that fighting a dragon was not something the mysterious Sarutobi-ish headmaster was going to subject wet behind the ears first years to, he was well aware that the magical world was far too unpredictable for his tastes. For all he knew, they could have been reading peoples mind to sort them. With magic, anything was possible. And something like that would be very very bad – even if these days he practiced 'thinking' in Japanese as a matter of norm.

Of the many things he had planned on, there were two things he did not want, with regards to sorting. First of all, he did not, under any circumstances want to be a Gryffindor. It was a simple matter of principle. The 'light' side or the 'good' side or whatever the name of Dumbledore's faction may be, they were primarily rooted in Gryffindor and its ideals by not getting into the lions pack, he would be distancing himself from whatever plans Dumbledore would no doubt have cooked up to portray him as the next coming of Godric Gryffindor. It was bad enough that the 'incident' ten years ago had already cemented his image as a savior of sorts. Which he was not. And no matter how much he wanted to appear part of the crowd, being openly part of a section or faction known to be unthinking idiots did not appeal to him. It was just plain wrong.

Slytherin was even more out of the question. For one thing, the snake theme was too reminiscent of Orochimaru for his liking. And the dark lord was a Slytherin, which definitely ruled it out. If he landed there, the chance that somebody might suddenly peg him as the next dark lord was too great. And from what he had seen till now, the wizarding world had just the right number of idiots for it to work. And no matter how much he identified with Naruto, there was no way he was going to purposely set up an entire society, one that he knew he would have to deal with regularly, to hate and fear him.

That left either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Truth be told, he didn't mind either one. On one side, Hufflepuff offered him the opportunity to keep an eye out for the foreign ninja who was already out there. On the other hand, Ravenclaw would let him freely engage in all sorts of research that he would otherwise be under scrutiny for doing. If he didn't have to genjutsu a library, why not?

He shrugged and began to change, making sure that his new robes had their storage seals in the right places. Using one for his new sword had been rather pointless at first when he realized that his quick-draw seal was on the inside of his shirt. That had been a particularly annoying revelation.

The train stopped and its passengers hurriedly emptied onto the dark and tiny platform. The scottish air seemed particularly cold and nobody seemed to be have the inclination to stick around more than absolutely necessary. There was a little confusion when the first years were herded away from the carriages, but Harry wasn't paying attention at the time. He merely followed the heavily accented cry of "Firs' years! Firs' years!" He managed to completely miss the sight of Hagrid tearing up when the half giant saw him. The nervous bunch of first years timidly followed the half giant(not that he knew that particular detail of course) down a steep and narrow path. The darkness and the menacing looking trees on either side almost made him snort at the absurdity of it all.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here"

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The castle was quite impressive, standing tall, a vast structure perched atop a mountain on the other side of a great black lake, with many turrets and towers

Harry had to admit the castle was impressive, though he did comment that unless they had some really good magical defenses, it was not the best place to survive a siege. Then again, with magic, it should be possible to create an impenetrable fortress. But the castle did seem to have some hidden power. The sheer amount of magic he could sense around him was proof of that. The fact that he had not trained to sense magic, yet could sense something at all, even beyond his line of sight was proof of that. If nothing else, the old man had his base. A very majestic and spooky looking base at that. Filled with innocent civilians that would end up hostages in any battle. What a way to create a headache.

Hagrid shooed them all to a fleet of boats on the lake and once all were settled, he shouted "FORWARD!" and they were off.

Harry was ignored when he managed to be shuttled to a boat. Harry, had just as he got on, taken off his plain glasses and covered his scar. The other three on the boat did not recognize and pester him. Harry spent the time contemplating his actions and plans. He also occasionally glanced at the castle that was now towering over them.

In another boat, Takeda and Draco sat quietly with Crabbe and Goyle. There was a tense silence in the air, disturbing the pristine calmness of the boat as it glided slowly towards the castle. Draco was the first to speak, albeit in a low voice.

"You are Tetsuya?"

The ninja stretched and cracked his knuckles.

"Yes I am... Draco-kun. I assume your father told you about what is expected from you?"

The sneer in his voice could not have been more apparent. Even the somewhat touched in the head minion twins growled at the tone. Draco however raised his hand, motioning them to stop. There was no sense antagonizing power. Tetsuya looked rather amused at this theatrical display of subservience.

Draco on the other hand was on an entirely different plane of thought. He had heard things from his father. He knew this was a boy who had killed far more powerful magical entities than his father could dream to be. He knew that with one flick of a blade, his life, and probably the lives of everyone in the castle would be forfeit, because a _child_ willed it. At this very moment, he had some inkling of what it was like for his father to be in the dark lords presence. His father had said that this child was a warrior, an incredible engine of devastation, one that it would not be in the Malfoys interest to alienate, insult or antagonize. This whole train of thought was confirmed in one fraction of a second in which Malfoy peeked at the other boy to see him watching the three purebloods out of the corner of his slit eyes with what could be best described as amused disinterest.

So, as meekly as was possible for a Malfoy, he lowered his head and muttered his acquiescence, knowing instinctively that the owner of the oriental face would hear. And he was right of course. But at the same time, he also gritted his teeth and snarled at this foreigner. No matter what this _mercenary_ thought, he would remain here only so long as the Malfoys wished it. Draco Malfoy would prove himself to his father and eliminate this interloper all at the same time. If nothing else, Malfoys were a patient lot, and as his father had taught him, he would wait, plan and maneuver, till he struck like the snake he was. Head still lowered, Draco smiled.

The short journey ended when they pulled up at a small harbor that was...underneath the castle?

After they got out of the boats, they went the small distance up to the grounds and the front door, where their giant of a guide knocked on the front doors, thrice.

The doors were opened by the prim and proper figure of Professor Minerva McGonogall. Her piercing eyes roved through the ranks of scared children with no small amount of purpose, pausing an instant on the figure of Harry himself before her eyes moved on to cover everyone else.

She exchanged a greeting with Hagrid before opening the doors fully and waving them in. there was no mistake this time. This place screamed middle ages. Harry noted that the walls were rough enough that he wouldn't need chakra to clamber around.

McGonogall turned around and gave a short speech, about the houses mostly. She took one last glance at everyone then turned and left. Whispers broke out in a furious deluge. Harry was tempted to speak up and reassure someone that dragons were never going to be a sorting method. Then again, he just simply observed everyone, noting who was scared and who wasn't, the latter of which would be ones to watch out for, because they were informed beforehand, and here that could mean any number of things.

And then people began to scream. Harry resisted the urge to apply his training on what were essentially incorporeal beings. He let them go and scare people, making sure not to miss the reactions of the ghosts themselves, although their conversations seemed a bit disjointed. They were dead people from an even more ancient age after all.

And then McGonogall returned and the spell was broken. Harry was startled when his focused hearing picked up Tetsuya muttering in indistinct Japanese. But he put it out of his mind and followed the professor into the great hall.

The sorting was quite boring. They put on the hat, and it blurted its choice. Somehow, after the hype of the lake and the ghosts, he was half expecting to need to break out a few clones, a few blades and a few jutsu, which would have been quite the sight in the confined semi ventilated room. But alas, his slowly slipping control was yet again successfully reigned in and he quietly set about matching names to faces.

And then came the inevitable, "Potter, Harry!"

The hush that fell just _had_ to be rehearsed. So somewhat nervously walk, while wondering exactly how the hat sorted people, he sat down and let the brim cover his head.

As soon as he put the hat on though, he knew this sorting was going to be different.

"You are a most ...curious individual..."

The hats almost ethereal voice floated through his mind. Harry was not totally shocked. He had already considered mind reading or telepathy in some forms as a possible form of magic. But still, to hear that voice that seemed deep in thought and _very_ different from the one that sang the song earlier was quite strange. Harry briefly considered the possibility that he would have to assassinate the mind-reading talking hat. And he did it fully knowing that the hat knew he was thinking of it, while ignoring the part of his brain that claimed that he was over reacting. Assassinate a hat indeed.

"You really wish to assassinate me? ...Consume me in fire? Shred my tattered form with wind? ...Why would you do this, young Harry Potter?"

Why did everything magical have to be medieval as well? Two could play at that.

"Because you have seen my secrets. And you know that I cannot let that fact remain..."

He heard the hat chuckle. There was something disconcerting about it. And it had nothing to do with the fact that it was a mind-reading talking hat doing it, in his mind.

"Fear not young shinobi... for that is what you call yourself, yes? I have no means of relaying the nuggets I find within the heads of my wearers. I am bound by the very magics that created me to hold your secrets till eternity. The founding four themselves were incapable of ripping that knowledge from me. My very creation is such that I would be destroyed before I could reveal a thought from you."

Even as the pauses grew shorter, Harry mentally nodded when he worked out that essentially what the hat said was that it couldn't speak, but resolved that if ever his secret was revealed, he'd send an exploding clone after the hat. Obviously, the talking hat conveniently ignored the threat he was quite clearly broadcasting.

"Besides, I can only hear...and see your conscious thoughts. I cannot access memories...I am no legilemens..."

Harry stirred a bit, unnoticeable to all, except Tetsuya, who was merely wondering why Harry was taking so damn long. Everything he knew so far said that he would end up in Gryffindor, no questions asked. He was the bloody boy-who-lived, as he had been unwittingly reminded, so many times. He too shifted, an unseen twitch betraying his interest.

Harry resolved to look into that word. There was no doubt knowledge that was there for the taking if he took the time to look it up. Besides, a thousand year old talking hat had to be good for something, assuming he ever got sorted.

"So you say. However, if you really can read minds, you have no doubt found a measure of the steps I am prepared to take to keep my secrets. What will you do, my dear talkative hat? Are you ready to die, or at least...cease to exist?"

The hat laughed. It did not get less creepy the more it did that.

"Fine, perhaps this will convince you. While I cannot reveal the thoughts of those I sort, I am under no obligation to keep the secrets I hear with my ears, ...and yes I have ears, a mouth too. I sang after all!"

Harry mentally sighed. This was simply not working according to any of the bizarre expectations he had carried. And what was the talking hat going to tell him anyway?

"Dumbledore wants you in Gryffindor. As does surprisingly, Professor Snape. Professor McGonogall does not want you in her house, while the other teachers really don't care at all. By rights I ought to sort you to Gryffindor, but even I can tell that's a bad idea, even if you really are Gryffindor's blood"

Harry was mentally cataloging the 'facts' the hat was reeling off when he suddenly felt like he had been hit on the head. "Eh What?"

"You heard me, you are Godric's heir. The last living direct descendant of the line of Gryffindor himself. The castle, which really is somewhat intelligent by the way, recognized you as such the moment you entered it. A very minor thing, considering the rests of the wards that are here. And at any rate, while this would normally ensure that you would be sorted there immediately, there is a problem with that. You don't belong in Gryffindor."

Harry mentally nodded. There was no way he was going to the house that strategy and tactics forgot. The mere idea was more frightening than having to lose a limb. The latter he could repair, eventually

"So where to then?"

"Lets see, first, let me tell you that I don't really sort children into Gryffindor because they tend to mindlessly charge into situations or Slytherin because they are cunning. Popular misconception, really. My condition for Slytherin is ambition, plain and simple, though being a pureblood usually get you in by definition. Ravens must have thirst for knowledge. Lions must have that spark of..."courage under fire"...as you say. Hufflepuff is actually where everyone else goes...because people without overwhelming urges to do ' stuff ' like the other houses are the ones who can work together to achieve greatness"

Harry was halfway back to kill-the-hat thought so he had no recourse but to react.

"Yes, of course, but just sort me already! My rear has fallen asleep, and if you don't finish up soon, I'll shred-"

By this point the hat seemed to finally get it and said, "You who have such an interesting mind...must go to" and then aloud, "RAVENCLAW!"

Harry let out a sigh of relief and went to the said table, grumbling all the way. Even ninja had limits to their patience.

The hall was silent, as if somebody had hit the pause button on a television. Really, they couldn't believe it at all. The boy-who-lived had just gone to the bookworms nest. There was something really wrong about the whole picture. And none felt it more than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

This wasn't supposed to happen. How could this happen. There was absolutely no way that the son of James and Lily Potter could have ended anywhere but Gryffindor. Even Slytherin might have been better than Ravenclaw!

The headmaster shook his head. So Slytherin couldn't be better than Ravenclaw. But still, it was almost tantamount to saying that Harry had removed himself from the whole light side/dark side conflict with one word from a hat. It wasn't a _Ravenclaw_ that defeated Grindelwald! It wasn't a _Ravenclaw_ that led the fight against evil! It wasn't a _Ravenclaw_ that resisted the dark lord trying to save her son in the face of overwhelming, malignant power and utter doom (and saved the magical world in the aftermath)!

But it was all for naught of course. The hat had sorted Harry into Ravenclaw. And in Ravenclaw he would remain. Now all Dumbledore could do was persuade him to listen to reason, while he himself had to figure out how to play up a boy savior who was now in RAVENCLAW! Why couldn't life just go his way? And it had gone oh so beautifully until now too.

As soon as Harry had found himself a seat, the hall erupted in noise. Cheers for the most part, though the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables were strangely subdued. Harry mentally smirked, even as he smiled politely and waved off questions from his new housemates. He subtly looked at the group of unsorted first years to see that Tetsuya was looking somewhere between flabbergasted to thoughtful. No doubt this was going into his report.

In the meanwhile other teachers were having varied reactions. McGonogall found herself inexplicably happy, though she managed to not show it, even as she stood there, waiting for the noise to come down. Sprout was congratulating Flitwick, who in turn was even chirpier than usual. The part goblin took a second to slyly comment about having found "a lion cub in the raven's nest", but McGonogall merely smiled, far from the head table as she was. Quirrel though raised a single eyebrow and lowered his head, smiling an unseen grim smile. The moment passed and he went back to the stuttering idiot.

Snape on the other hand was in quite a predicament, something only the minute twitches in his face was testament to. He was not sure whether he should be sneering or cheering with the rest of them. On one hand, the hated spawn of Potter was NOT in Gryffindor. He reveled in the thought that the elder Potter was surely rolling in his grave. On the other hand, his beloved flower would only be happy that her son was in the house that some called the temple of knowledge. Surely this meant that the sorting hat had seen something in the boy to put him there. Snape briefly imagined that this only meant that behind Lily's eyes (on _his_ face, he groused) lay _her_ intellect. However he pushed the thought away. If he went off like this, he wouldn't be able to be as...evil as his position as head of Slytherin demanded. His musings, master occlumens as he was, he filed for later, to be gone through in private. For now he had a reputation to maintain.

The hall finally quietened down and the sorting continued. It was nothing special, and nobody took the twenty minutes he did, mostly a minute at most. By the end, when everyone was sorted, Harry was surprised to find that he really had worked up an appetite. Who knew talking to a mind-reading talking hat was such work.

After the final student had been sorted, Harry sat down and half dozed off. So what if Dumbledore wanted to mention useless information, one that really applied only to the wet behind the year brats that comprised his generation(and a few before)? And besides, there was nothing wrong with sending shadow clones to see if the so called lethal corridor was anything close to lethal. Really, it was obvious the man _wanted_ somebody to test it and find out, at which point rumor would serve as deterrent to most, urban legends and what not. It was a weird plan which would work, assuming nobody died in whatever made up the preliminary scary parts of the corridor. Although, there was always the possibility that the headmaster was an evil guy who just wanted to kill little kiddies for the heck of it...

Harry shook his head and followed his prefect, still deep in thought. He absentmindedly noted the path he was taking, letting his memory do its job. He was unsure about exactly how he was expected to proceed. He had infiltrated the huge magical castle, he was now probably cut off from training all the time (clones shouldn't be able to do magic...right?) and he had to decide what to do about the trained ninja and his comrades, who were no doubt even now stalking the huge forest that was literally right outside the door. He would have to pay a visit some day soon. Whatever said and done, Hogwarts was his turf, sort of, and he would be damned if he wasn't going to keep an eye on possible hostiles.

Harry came out of his thoughts to find the prefect telling the young wide eyed kids the way to enter the tower – riddles. Harry was reminded a bit of mythological sphinxes, which he had to remind himself actually did exist as far as magic was concerned. He noted that the house ghost, the grey lady was looking over them disinterestedly from not too far away. Looking at her, he was vaguely reminded of Ravenclaw herself, but dismissed the idea as too far fetched. Ravenclaw was too enlightened to have considered staying on for an eternity as ectoplasm.

By the time he actually fell asleep, he was thoroughly bored, and half considered sending out clones on patrol, but decided against it. He could use the rest, and tomorrow was going to be a trying day. Irrespective of how much he read, magic was going to be a kick in the guts. And he had no idea how he was supposed to use it either. Wands didn't really come with instruction manuals, and even if they did, there was absolutely no way it would mention what would happen if he were to accidentally channel chakra instead.

So many questions had been put aside for tomorrow, he decided to get as much sleep as he could. Early morning would be an ideal time to let a clone take his place while he went out to do his morning routines. Nothing like a few katha to ease out the sleep from his bones. Harry yawned and let sleep overcome him, awaiting whatever dreams came his way.

The corridors of Hogwarts, were quiet and dark at midnight, perfect for the stealthy fellow who stalked through them, leaving the castle without having alerted even the wards of the castle to his disappearance. The first time was always the most difficult, as he had to actively memorize the route and every detail in the path he took. But Tetsuya soldiered on, confident in his skills and training to move at his best stealthy pace. The forest loomed large, ever foreboding, warning of the dangers within. But the boy barely noticed. Nothing here could threaten him.

Tetsuya followed his senses, following the peculiar magical signature with the equivalent of a magical compass, a simple circular tattoo on the back of his hand that itched in the direction he was supposed to go. He concentrated on his path, ignoring the many nocturnal creatures that scurried out of his way, his magical presence as foreboding as a ballistic missile. And in another couple of seconds he reached his destination.

The treehouse, was a cubish structure, stuck on a tree. It was not hidden physically, for it was invisible to ordinary wizards. Tetsuya noted two masked and dark clothed figures, ninja just like him. At the top of the box like structure stood Taka, master tracker. And at the base of the tree stood Kenji. Tetsuya nodded to the two separately, and was signaled with gestures. He replied in the proper fashion and was immediately joined by his allies.

"Tetsuya kun...i trust all is well?"

Taka did not waste time with pleasantries. There was no need. They were all alive, and that was a as pleasant as things were going to get. But his crisp Japanese was happy all the same.

"Hai. There were no problems. I do not believe my identity has been compromised."

As always, nothing was _absolutely_ sure. Taka nodded.

"Anything that requires a specific report?"

With magic in play, there was _always_ something that was unexpected.

"No...though I believe this may be of interest...Potter Harry has joined Ravenclaw"

Taka raised an eyebrow. That was interesting, if not very relevant. Based on character profiles, he imagined the headmaster would be quite shocked, as would be several other people who would be informed in very short order. He supposed Hayate would have to be informed. But it was only worthy of the weekly reports. A wrongly predicted sorting was not that unusual. But it was Potter, who they had concrete evidence was the subject of a prophecy, one linking him with a presumed dead dark lord, the latter of who was the owner of Malfoys primary allegiance, which meant that... Taka shook his head. This was something Takeda would bother with anyway. So he decided to finish up his little chat. Their next meet was scheduled in the weekend anyway, unless there was an emergency, not that he expected any.

"Have you memorized the way here?"

"Hai"

"Excellent. We remove the homing beacon from here tonight. Return to the castle"

And with that, the boy hurtled through the forest, back to the school. Tomorrow would be the real start of his mission. It was time to see if a ninja really could play wizard.

A/N : another chapter up, one that I feel no satisfaction over. This one was rushed, and even if a long time was taken, I actually got only about 5 disjointed hours or so on this chapter. Exams and assignments are haunting me and I am dead tired. Hopefully I can get the next one up in a lot less time, but I'm not too confident about it.

Don't hate me if this chapter sucks...please! I think I forgot half the stuff I wanted to put in as time went by. I'll rewrite this soon, hopefully, even as I work on the next chapter.

PS: talk about your twists. Kishimoto has managed to put out some mega freaky episodes. I imagine quite a few authors on FFN will be shocked, either cause they were right or they were wrong. I myself was quite shocked at the part about whirlpool and their sealing skill, and the bits about the shodais wife. And did anyone notice that Naruto seeems to have whiskers before he gets the kyuubi sealed in?

Review please, even if its bad. Thoughts of the reader are always good. They stoke the fires that feed the forge...


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: you know what goes here...

The first day of school. That was what this amounted to. There was no greater term that could explain the chaos, the confusion, the unadulterated nervousness that pervaded the somewhat gloomy atmosphere of the Ravenclaw dorm. There was something seriously wrong if this was the atmosphere that was present when all the other three in the moderately sized room were still asleep, in a house which supposedly jumped at the chance to learn. Yes, today was shaping up to be an annoying day.

Harry had woken up at five. There was no sense in not letting his body mechanically go through the motions of a normal morning while he mentally began plotting and planning. He showered in cold water, letting the temperature shock his muscles into full wakefulness. A shadow clone had been sent out, to observe the castle. It was invisible, as he had told it to be and so, Harry was content to let the scout make his map of the castle. He didn't think it was going to discover any of the secret passageways mentioned in Hogwarts, a History, but it would no doubt give him a rudimentary map of the castle he could work with. He actually hadn't remembered this tiny insignificant detail until he was in the shower.

It was strange, Harry decided. He had spent a significant fraction of his life so far in the pursuit of becoming a shinobi. Well, not really a shinobi. He was one of a kind in this world. Nobody recognized the class of warrior he was training to be. The kind of ninja here used magic. Chakra was an unrecognisable entity if Takeda's reaction back in Diagon was anything to go by. Besides, what was he doing here anyway?

It was a startling discovery, at least when pushed to one's consciousness. He had always been vaguely aware of the fact that he didn't have a real goal. What was a real goal anyway? Was it the pursuit of normality? As his uncle had done all too long ago? Was it a desire to succeed at something? Like any number of people in Naruto? Or was it a single minded self destroying purpose, one that left your existence empty and meaningless when achieved?*cough*Sasuke*cough* There was no real answer to the question. He was in a very real and for him, unthinkable manner, purposeless. Unless you considered the clichéd 'wait and see'.

He shook his head, letting his calloused hands towel his hair. It was moments like these, when he got really confused. Richards had once said that there was no point in doing anything unless it was for a reason that mattered. Valid cause, he had called it. Then again, with the amount of star wars dialogue he had been spouting till then, it could have been his Obi Wan interpretation for all he knew.

A long time ago, when he was still pathetic and stuck in the cupboard under the stairs, he didn't have such questions to deal with. His life goal was survival. See the next sunrise. Do not give in. Do not let the Dursleys win. Keep fighting, living, existing. That was valid cause, a proper reason to exist. He hadn't cared either way. He was too young at that time to worry about the philosophical angle to his whole life. It had been his life. And he had wanted to live. And that was that. But now? What was his purpose now? Why did he exist? What cause had he sworn fealty to? What cause was he prepared to die for? To kill for? To become less than human for?

Because in the end that was what he aspired to be, wasn't it? A cold emotionless entity who could kill torture and obliterate without remorse or pity? He gave a humourless chuckle at that. His only precious person was dead of natural causes, so there went that. What was he supposed to do? He had no revenge to take. Nothing he had read or trained in till now would be of a use if he had nothing to strive for. It would be all utterly pointless.

He shook his head again, trying to clear his thoughts. He was doing a lot of it now. He never had this problem until he had come to Hogwarts. He supposed that even waiting for something to happen was technically a goal, which was why he hadn't dipped into to the insanity pool until now. Waiting for Hogwarts. It even sounded like something someone might write a book about, or maybe a movie.

In other times, he may have been tempted to ask "what would Richards do?" However, he had no intention of having fun by scaring everyone with his eleven year old Darth Vader costume/impression. Even if he henged it to full scale. Even if there was a certain appeal to it... And he could get a clone to do it... And the look on Dumbledore's face would certainly be priceless...

Well, in any case, he would wait and watch. Even if he wasn't religious(frequent curses in Kami's name notwithstanding) he had a conviction that god would not leave him purposeless for long. No he was too valuable a piece in gods games to leave alone for too long. There was a reason his life had been totally hell for a while. There was a reason. And he would wait as he always had, in the shadows, till his purpose came too him, and then he would embrace and fulfil it, as he was chosen to do. He was a shinobi. Not another worthless clueless piece of human idiocy that traversed this planet.

And for the first time since he came to the castle, Harry truly smiled. He cloaked himself in a minor genjutsu and quickly set about dressing in what he might have called combat attire. It was black and had plenty of pockets, pockets he had taken the time to fill with stuff he considered, and used as weaponry. In two minutes, a dozen shadow clones were racing about the castle, all with animal masks, reminiscent of ANBU on their faces. They would be the information gathering team. It was time to map out the battlefield...er school.

The first day of school was a lot more interesting than Tetsuya predicted. He was quite content to ignore his dorm mates in their pursuit of quidditch glory by association. He had taken the time to wake up early and had finished his morning troubles(and troubles they were...toilets did not save your life in battle or a surprise assault). It was however, quite interesting to see how the rest of humanity went about their daily lives, the part that hadn't exactly been trained from before they could remember to be warriors and assassins. It was quite interesting to muse how the present day ninja clans were becoming less of assassins and more of battlefield force multipliers.

Ninja these days were trained fighters. They were also equipped with the one thing that made them so dangerous to sorcerers. Magic neutralizing weaponry, made of an alloy called 'black earth', the thing that had transformed the ninja of Japan from the spies and shadows they were to the more overt and highly dangerous killers of today. The secret was discovered by a blacksmith(and a crazy one at that, closest any ninja would come to a stereotypical mad scientist) who was in service to the ninja clan known as Nanashi(a name that conveniently enough means "no name"). Three years after this breakthrough, Nanashi ninja began to war against the sorcerers of southern china, using their unprecedented tactical advantage of using magic and their skills with a higher chance of success, to slaughter four hundred sorcerers in two weeks. Quite impressive for a clan with less than seventy active ninja, with less than twelve casualties to speak of, including six dead.

This shadow war, hidden from the less gifted majority of humanity at this point, Hakumei and other clans were requested to end this threat once and for all. A week later, the clan with no name became a clan with no one, and the ninja of Japan were permanently subcontracted by the Chinese and Japanese sorcerers to take out rogues. Ironically enough, the millions of sorcerers that collectively formed the eastern territories ensured that there were always crazies out there that were necessary to be eliminated. The somewhat feudal nature of magical china also ensured that the ninja were forced to...diversify.

That was four hundred years ago. Tetsuya was a prodigy of this new generation, one that was expected to learn select bits of sorcery to complement their already formidable, relatively speaking, fighting skills. Supposedly it was all part of the long term strategy to deal with the ICW. Which was all well and good until he had found that he was expected to spend seven years of his life in a long term class 6 infiltration mission. What was he supposed to do after that? Granted, this level 6 alone meant that simply by accepting, he had become an equal to his current superiors, and that his future was more or less cemented after this point(assuming of course that he survived), but it still seemed an awful waste of time. He was the best of four ninja his age. He had been taught just that little extra to help him survive, because he had shown he was dedicated. And now, he found that he was going to be stuck in a castle full of wizards, for a long long time. It was indeed the cruellest of fates.

Tetsuya paused and found himself in a hallway, and by the looks of it, right outside the great hall. Had he been so deep in thought that he had lost track of time and space? It seemed so. He shrugged and decided that he might as well help himself. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day. And today was pretty important as far as days go.

First impressions, he had been taught were vital. They acted as subconscious foundations upon which such things as opinions, trust and assumptions were built. And infiltration was THE place where first impressions matter. After all, in assassinations, the only impression that mattered was how satisfied the client was with your work. This mission was starting to become all too bothersome, and on his second day of a maximum of seven long and tiresome sounding years. Tetsuya was tempted to let out his emotions in one big cathartic roar. Unfortunately, in infiltration, that really wasn't an option. So instead he let out a sigh and went inside, deciding that he could instead observe the "interesting" people he had noted yesterday.

The great hall was empty. Then he looked at his 'magical watch'. Tetsuya's eyes twitched. 'Kuso!' he cursed mentally, moving to exit before any of the early risers got a good look at him and destroyed the impression he was told to aim for, that of a lazy individual. He was never actually sure if his instructors had been sarcastic when they mentioned that the first day and your image then was the key to success. In any event, his off the radar profile would be compromised, if his first impression was as a person who got up early _on the first day of class_, not the most Hufflepuff thing he ought to be doing. He turned around and found himself face to face with his head of house, Pomona Sprout. This would not end well.

"My My! Such a dedicated student I have! Its not often one finds young puffs up and early like this! And before the ravens even!...perhaps I'll finally have another one to brag to Filius about..."

While this may not have made sense to the normal individual, the fact was that the professor's current thoughts, her house pride derived desires and the general irrationality of the wizarding world she had concluded that the poor boy was a hardworking, smart student who was rising up in his eagerness to learn. Tetsuya himself was not too bothered with the technicalities. He was far more concerned with esoteric calculations based on his cover, his mission...

The young Hufflepuff paled, spun around and rapidly retreated from the area. He resolved to try harder at being ordinary. It was just that his ingrained habits were coming into play, rendering his attempts at the reflexive actions of an eleven year old (mostly in the wake up without throwing a brace of shuriken at, or decapitating nearby snoring individuals, never mind waking up later than really really early) extremely suspect. Or maybe he could turn into a extremely shy persona? It would also work, though it was not really his niche. Cowering was really not his style. But at this rate, he might just have to pursue that, which would be inimical to the web of contacts he was supposed to spin, and deal with. Shy Hufflepuffs do not politicians make.

Sprout watched the quickly disappearing figure of first year with a bewildered gaze. Well, at least she now had an example of a true hardworking 'puff, determined not to let himself be caught by 'the lethargy of first year' as her colleagues sometimes called it. She had high hopes this one was a point winner.

"Hmm, must not take compliments well..."

Above, a clone walked upside down on the ceiling in measured steps, looking at the happenings that were overhead (for him), with a raised eyebrow. For some strange reason, he was not surprised by the nonsensical insanity that had just occured. Certainly, it was odd behaviour, for a highly trained assassin. Maybe it was stress? He was young after all and everything said and done, Harry had done infiltration many many times(and quite proud of it), even if _his_ missions could be as ordinary as learning to dance or bar tending, via shadow clones of course. Certainly, he had learnt most of his day to day skills by observation and signing up for classes, in various guises. It was amazing the things you could learn if you took the effort. Though, he hadn't managed to find an acupuncture specialist, so no mystical Haku-esque abilities. And he was so looking forward to the whole near-death-state-via-needles-in-the-neck trick too...

Due to his missions, Harry had amassed a considerable amount of hands on experience in a lot of odd jobs in the Surrey area. He would never have trouble living as a muggle again. And he probably had a head start on Potions and Herbology, the former of which might as well have been named "Ritualized cooking with magical ingredients!", while the latter was Advanced Gardening/Botany!...somewhat. Really, it was amazing how his so called ordinary skills would help him in his understanding and practice of this new power they called "magic", which at this point was becoming less magical even as the minutes ticked by...

Harry had long figured out that his chakra was somehow originated from magic. Certainly, they were not the same. He was extremely thankful his wand had not exploded when he channelled chakra through it. Though, the really bright orange yellow glow, reminiscent of a lightsaber, had weaned him away from further experiments, at least for now. Perhaps he could borrow one from a sufficiently malicious soul? At any rate, his chakra had sprung from magic, yet they were not interchangeable. They coexisted and that was that. However, this also meant that he could use the two in relatively close proximity(or devices/seals using the two) without interference or catastrophic failure/explosions. The possibilities were endless! Of course, research was required, but still. Imagine the potential that magic and fuinjutsu together had! He could make an X-Wing! Or a Millennium Falcon! Granted, he had no idea how he would go about this, or even how he might achieve the power for all of this...but...but...still, the sheer potential!

The clone shook of his thoughts before he veered off and ended up with chronic megalomania. He dispelled, letting his memories drift back to his creator. Elsewhere in the castle, other clones were also dispersing after establishing maps of the castle, or at least basic ones. He wouldn't get lost at the very least and knew several escape routes to boot. He didn't want to get too familiar or assured of his data. A magical school was bound to have quirks in space time, quirks that he could not chart. The thousand year old castle was doubtless filled with pitfalls even for the experienced campaigner. And he still had the inevitable secret passages to discover.

So Harry did the most Gryffindor thing(in his mind) that he would ever considering doing in his life. He decided to take it as it came. This was of course despite his concrete belief in the headmaster's nefarious plots concerning him, his fear of assassination(however unlikely) by the revenge seekers loyal to the latest dark lord, his surety that he was being watched by friend and foe alike, and his extreme desire to avoid fangirls. Oh and were there fangirls! They screamed it at him in his "public" appearance on the train. And he definitely did not want to imagine how the Harry-Potter-Dolls™ had been treated before they were shoved in his face, to be autographed. He was somewhat thankful his clone had hinted at aloofness. It was a bit amusing to see them regain control after a while, even if they were less likely to avoid stalking him now. That was alright, he was training himself in the art of disappearing for a while now. Harry Potter, defeater of dark lord, self trained ninja, afraid of rabid stalkers...he could see the headline now. And despite how normal Little Whining seemed, stalkers were just as common there as anywhere else.

The great hall eventually filled up, slowly of course. The various years and houses were entering at a crawl, shaking of sleep and clearly lamenting the loss of sleep and the inevitable torture of learning. It was refreshingly normal. That was not to say that harry was in any shape or form condoning the act of being normal. The Dursleys had cured him of that. But there was a certain relief that even in the midst of an armed society, where eleven year olds had access to tools and abilities that could literally reshape the world around them (conveniently ignoring his own half hearted hypocrisy in the matter) the normal "humanity" he supposed, of everyone was still intact. There were no impossible to bridge differences that could only be explained away because of magic meddling with man. In a way, he was perfectly assured of the fact that he was only slightly more odd than than the average wizard/witch.

There was no grand announcement of sorts. That had been taken care of yesterday. Today, and more specifically right now, was a time of peace, without the burden of listening to the wisdom of the really really old. Harry therefore took the time to stare at each of the teachers at the head table in turn, subtly of course. It was curious to observe the various teachers in their interactions. As far as he was concerned, the only person who had any real claim to be his teacher was Richards who had shaped him into a who he was as a person, even if he did not even know of his students abilities and tendencies. And even if he told himself that he shouldn't judge, he had an extremely troubling conviction that not only were these teachers a fraction of the person that was sensei, that some of these teachers would barely be troubled to teach, at all. The the potions professor, Snape, as his wandering clones had managed to find out, was even glaring at him in a single minded if-looks-could-kill manner, with a loathing that would not look out of place on Orochimaru. It was frankly quite disturbing.

Of course, on the other end of the spectrum, the headmaster was _beaming_ at him (not to mention those god awful _twinkling_ eyes that gave him a headache just looking at it), and several others but mainly him. It was perhaps even more disturbing than the glare of Snape himself. The rumours of the old mans madness did not reduce the feeling that the bearded man was peering at him as one might a chess piece. Harry resolutely turned to stare at Snape, after all, hate was something he could manage. He had done so with the Durselys for years.

Breakfast also proved one thing. Magic was remarkably efficient at keeping people thin. How else could these people shovel enough oil and fat down their throats to carry the muggle economy through the next fifty years...without reaching supertanker proportions? It meant that magic was passively assisting in keeping the body healthy, which while mostly a good thing also probably meant that any problems in magic would drastically affect the body. He would probably have to keep an eye out for the various methods by which this could be achieved. There just had to be a medical facility somewhere around here, especially if magic was as treacherous to the inexperienced and the maker of mistakes as he thought it would be. Seriously, chakra could sometimes do all sorts of weird stuff at first when he was first foraying into genjutsu. And that is to say nothing of fuinjutsu, those terribly beautiful, terribly unforgiving seals...

When he finished the most healthy breakfast he could scrounge from within the monument to unhealthiness, he found his class schedule in front of him. he looked over it, 'hmmm'ed to himself and pocketed the parchment. He did note that there were various cries of joy and despair, ostensibly about the position and timing of the various classes. in particular, he focused on the exclamations that Gryffindor and Slytherin were placed together, again. And why indeed, was the headmaster so intent upon placing two most volatile political factions in close proximity in a not too heavily monitored environment? Especially considering that by all accounts he should have ended up in Gryffindor...On the plus side, he was going to spend a lot of time with the spy who wasn't. How...amusing.

The first class he had was potions. Such a beautiful start to the day, in the presence of the one professor he seemed to inspire absolute loathing from. today looked like an excellent day to practice peace and calm genjutsu, which given his predilection with combat and assassination,as opposed to something like say, hostage negotiation, he had very little inclination to create or practice. Oh joy!

Hufflepuff was in a downright tizzy. Being the house with the greatest emphasis on cooperation and general do goodiness, the senior years had regaled the ickle firsties with tales of the bio hazards and tyranny. They did need some warning before stepping foot in the minefield that was Snape's dungeon. As one muggleborn whispered, it was stepping foot in the lair of a level boss you just couldn't do anything about but salute and die...

A little while later, he found himself in the actual potions classroom, and wondered what sort of sick fantasy buff had worked at Hogwarts. Unless of course, considering the 1000 year history, it was the other way round.

In any case, Snape swooped into class with the whole shebang, banging the door open, billowing cloak, murderous expression...you just had to give the guy points for effort. His sneer was cut to perfection, and Harry found himself curious to the making of the man who seemed to be going for an Ibiki experience. The greasy hair was in no way less an affront to sight than the scarred head of the T&I expert was. And when he began to call roll, the utter dripping malevolence was tsukiyomi gold. How anyone could make each and every name sound like a personalized insult was beyond him. And at his name, he half snorted, raised a greasy eyebrow and drawled with a tone drowning in sar(c)hasm. "Ah, Yes" he said, softly"Harry Potter. Our new..._celebrity_". Although the effect may have been ruined when Harry appeared to be engrossed in studying his face with not too disguised glee and fascination.

However, it seemed with the name of the spy, "Watanabe, Tetsuya" (which ironically enough _was_ was the actual way to say that name) his voice seemed less inclined to insult anyone. Which meant that the good evil professor had more than a little inkling as to what or who the friendly black haired shinobi was. Curious.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and..."

As he listened to Snape's speech, he wondered exactly what the man was trying to accomplish. Fear was not really conducive to a teaching environment. Then why was the man practically screaming "Fear Me!" in his every move? It was like he was used to being feared and in control. It was also very clear that the man cared as much for teaching this class as he might have cared for pink ponies and rainbows. And why did the man clearly hate him? Perhaps he was one of those who very clearly did not like the fact that some magical accident in his presence had made Lord-Whats-His-Name disappear. This was the most likely possibility, he mused. If so, the man had tremendous influence to keep himself in this position, next to children, right under Dumbledore's nose. And if he did this while going against every tenet of good teacher-ness, it was only a sign of power. Of there it was always possible the man was kept here because Dumbledore was powerful enough to override the concerns of, well everyone and for some outlandish reason implicitly trusted the man... Harry snorted mentally, "Yeah right!"

The speech had finished and the man seemed about fit to say something, but then, after glancing at Harry's eager and glee filled face with trepidation, decided against it. In seconds the instructions were on the board and Snape was looking at them with a rather irritated expression. The class began to do the potion.

The class was paired, and Harry ended up with a Hufflepuff named Susan Bones who seemed to be about average for Hogwarts, or at least what Harry assumed to pass for average here. She didn't seem much enthused about the subject, although she sent curious glances at him as they worked. Boil removal potions can keep your interest only so far.

"So...Harry Potter. You're shorter than I expected"

Harry was honestly amused. It was a rather cheesy line.

"Yes...although, I seem to be at a disadvantage. It seems I am not properly introduced to the beautiful witch in front of me?"

At the not too subtle hint(even if he remembered everyone from the sorting), Susan glanced at Snape before giving a small bow and flourish. "Susan Bones, but please, call me Susan"

Was it some kind of pureblood bloodline limit? The ability to instantly..._drawl_?

The next few minutes were filled with background music of a potions class. But before any more meaningful conversation could occur, somebody's potion went 'critical'. The second of whining was followed by a flash, a bang and the melting of metal and stone that the exploded potion came into contact with. It was actually eating into flesh at a very rapid rate. The screaming was put to an end when Snape finally fit to intervene and stunned the poor fellow. A few spells later, he was being floated behind the man as he rapidly disappeared outside, throwing a "Class dismissed" in between his mutterings as he left. Harry lost himself in wondering how to turn a potions accident into an effective anti-personnel explosive device. And perhaps smoke bombs could be created through potions?

The students sighed and left. It was going to one of those days...

Transfiguration was curious in its own way. Harry was quite interested in the ability to convert the world around him into sharp pointy objects. Even McGonogall could not quite repress the shudder at the maniacal gleam in his eye. She consoled herself with the thought that it was merely the son channelling his father. Yes, that was a perfectly reasonable explanation, at least until she could get to what was in essence, her private stash of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. At least the boy was polite enough to be competent enough to unwittingly support her internal assertion. Somehow, just looking at him as a green eyed James potter was instinctively wrong. But there was sufficient convoluted logic to ease her discomfort in the area.

As for Harry himself, he was quite in his element, turning matchstick into needle and then into senbon and into a miniature spike. It was all too fun. Also, he was in Ravenclaw, which meant he had a license to excel, without being branded any of the singularly annoying titles that befell skilled, talented or intelligent people. It was refreshing in a way. He was no Orochimaru, but he did possess the vague and somewhat disturbing urge to tinker. It was however thankful that nobody bothered to look at his work after his initial success. Only Kami knew what they would make of the spiked finger claw with tiny skulls on its non reflective black surface. He returned it to a needle in the end, a perfect specimen for the professor to collect.

There was a lot of free time given to first years. The idea of course was familiarization, acclimatization, assimilation or whatever else they probably called this attempt to get the eleven year olds to mingle and make friends. Unsurprisingly enough, this was a product of the Dumbledore philosophy, which by the way, also produced the idea that sticking first year gryffs and snakes was a perfectly good idea, never mind that enough people respected tradition to 'continue the good fight'.

Of course, Harry had no intention of having heart warming talks with his colleagues in the dorms. In fact, he had to consciously remind himself that children lived with him, that he was biologically eleven, that he should make contact, at least for appearances sake if nothing else. So what if jutsu theory was utterly beyond these peasants. A good ninja is also a politician of sorts. His actions are viewed by others and with them he shapes the goodwill of the populace, the client, the enemy, and the comrade. And talking was a pretty big part of that.

Maybe he could boldly step out and talk to the 'shy' Hufflepuff named Tetsuya. Not only would it creep out and annoy the paranoid fellow(especially after the actions on the train), it would totally upset the poor chaps anonymity. In the Hogwarts of today, being as stalked as he was, it would destroy any chance the boy had of sneaking off to spy. After all, what did the Boy-Who-Lived see in the quiet Hufflepuff? What quality marked him as worthy of the attention of the overly famous saviour? It would be an excellent social experiment, especially considering what camouflaged clones could ferret out. It was a thought.

Charms was quite invigorating. Really, there was something about the short professor that leant an energy to the room that none of the other classes could boast. You wanted to do well. And you didn't feel too disappointed if you didn't. The subject was rather appropriately named it seemed. However, charms were not as instinctive for Harry as he would have liked.

The levitation spell, was very difficult to cast. His wand movements were precise, his enunciation of Latin perfect. The thrice damned feather refused to rise. It was just less difficult to reign in his chakra from responding to the sheer will he was exerting to _magically_ float the feather. In the end he managed it, thankfully. The idea that he was incapable of the basic charm was something he couldn't contemplate. Sure these spells were flashy, but the behind the scenes potential of magic was astounding! The traps he could create with a wave! The ambushes he could perfect! The pranks he could subtly inflict upon the rest of the school! 'Where did the last one come from I wonder...'

Herbology was quite bland. Compared to the excitement of potions or the possibilities of transfiguration, plants were so boring. The myriads of moving and audible plants in the greenhouse were an excellent distraction. But it wasn't really all that great. It was far more interesting to watch how the plants reacted when clones began to inject chakra here and there. Sprout would never look more annoyed in her life. Especially since it wasn't magic that was making the plants weird.

Weirder than 'normal' magical plants anyway.

In all this madness, Tetsuya the magical ninja (Blast these British! Even I'm saying the word..."_magic_"!) was plodding around trying not to become noticed. It was bad enough his head of house now seemed to have an eagle eye on him. But it seemed that he was being spied on, constantly. Oh he could sense their stares, the rising hair on his neck. But he could never catch them, whoever it was. And he had even tried to send shuriken at them once, at a speed no wand waver in this castle could possibly dodge or defend, save Dumbledore. And even he would leave a sign if defending. No, this was somebody or something far more sinister. He was being stalked by ninja, and one that was far better than him. It could only be..._HIM!_

One step above the chain of command, Taka was duly informed that a psycho super ninja was stalking the operative. He pursed his lips and told the boy to be careful. What else was he supposed to do?

Snape was told, after the report had passed a couple of hands that somebody was being stalked in the castle. When he tried to raise it with the headmaster, he was told "Harry obviously must get used to these things. Though, it is nice of you to help him in this manner. Are you sure you don't want a lemon drop?"

Needless to say, the dungeons were saved from the inevitable din only thanks to the miracle of silencing charms.

Defence Against Dark Arts, taught by the stuttering mess called Quirrel was incredibly bothersome, his teaching irksome, and the whole hour was boredom. Surely this was enough evidence to put that twinkly eyed menace to society in a nice windowless white room, wearing a nice tight jacket *hint*hint*nudge*nudge*.

Even the stuttering was suspect. Seriously, the guy was way too bad an actor to not be called on it. Harry concluded that either he was a mass murderer or a child molester. He practised instead, trying to levitate the table. He should have been rewarded for not trying to transfigure it into something that was just enough to eat the professor, like a mouse or even a cat.

The library was a right sanctuary after trying classes. Madame Pince was probably a ninja in a past life if her vigilance in the library was anything to go by. She was quite particular about a lot of things, especially noise. Not that Harry minded. Too much noise made him twitchy. especially in a quiet place where he would meditate.

Magical books were of various and often dubious quality. There was very little that he found interest in though Arithmancy was advanced mathematics and Ancient Runes were somewhat similar to sealing. Both were slow but were effective in the beyond direct combat manner most magic tended to be. It was another matter that It would be quite a while before he used either. But it was interesting all the same. Considering that he intended to survive till he was at least a right geezer, it was useful priming material.

It was night, and class was a far memory. Draco Malfoy plotted in his empty dorm. Seizing power in Slytherin had been accomplished easily. His Father's name carried too much weight for anything else to have happened. It rankled a bit that he was unable to do anything of his own, that his power was merely a product of the fact that he was the son of Lucius Abraxan Malfoy. But his father's lessons had been thoroughly learnt. Power was precious. Too precious to let pride get in the way. Too precious for anything at all to get in the way. Love, Joy, Hate, Sorrow, Compassion, they were all obstacles to power. He was Slytherin, ambitious and cunning. He would prevail.

And at the moment, all his thoughts were directed upon his most hated individual in Hogwarts..._that detestable mercenary_. It was a blight upon the Malfoy name, to defer to this alien. It was one thing to grovel before the all powerful epitome of wizardry, The Dark Lord. It was another entirely to have to grovel before this whelp of a wizard, a foreign cur, undeserving of the magic he used and the wand he possessed. He ruled first year Slytherin. It was time to use his dominion to greater effect. "Tetsuya Watanabe ...You will die."

In the midst of all this madness, one forgotten creature plodded on with vicious purpose. Lord Voldemort directed his willing slave about its various tasks, quietly plotting the conquest of the wizarding world. Through passive legilimency, he had captured a snapshot of almost every single wizard and witch that existed in the castle. Fools, every last one of them. Pureblood fools, Mudblood fools, Halfblood fools...what separated them all save the degree of their foolishness? Dumbledore was the biggest fool of them all. Surely, the old coot had realised that resistance was futile? That he, the greatest sorcerer the world had ever seen, was destined to claw back into life and power? These ignorant masses would soon be under his command, overt or otherwise. Nothing would stand in his way!... just as soon as he got his hands on that blasted stone.

The going was slow. Quirrel was a pathetic wizard. He was stupid, was weak magically, and spent way too much time on useless activities. What part of he was going to die anyway did the poor fellow not understand anyway? This was exactly why he needed to speed up his inevitable return. At least his "loyal" Death Eaters did not not have any ambiguity about what their positions and life expectancy. You messed up one too many times and you die. There was none of that "But master! shouldn't we take care of Potter now?" crap. Besides, Potter could wait. Even casting a worthwhile cruciatus would strain this pathetic vessel too far. There was plenty of time for world domination and the killing of annoying enemies after he was back at full strength. He was immortal, and time was a mere annoyance, but damn if wasn't an effective annoyance it was.

In the mean time he would have to continue this useless game. Dumbledore, fool that he was, thought that Quirrel was merely a servant of the Dark Lord. It may have been true, but without the whole truth, it was useless information. The Headmaster did not suspect that his greatest foe since Grindelwald was a parasitic organism on Quirrel's head. The poor pitying glances that clearly invited the fallen man to 'repent' and return to the fold churned his phantasmal stomach. Quirrel was not a dark wizard by the conventional definition. And he himself had no aura or signature as a spirit, though if by some chance his vessel failed, the wards would push him out. Which reminded him, it would soon be time to begin the dosage of unicorn blood if he wanted to remain in an intact vessel.

It was ironic, the wards of Hogwarts were THE most powerful on any building in the British Isles. However, since their casting a thousand years ago, very little had changed. They were in essence, simple wards that had a hell of a lot of power behind them. Magical assault would be annoying but not impossible, but this unseen infiltration he had accomplished was easily overlooked. Unlike what many believed, Hogwarts was not some great fortress that was capable of resisting the assault of dark armies It was designed to counter the muggles of 1000AD with their at the time primitive seige weaponry and barbarian hordes. It was not sentient(well, after a point. It was still a thousand year old magical castle. It did have instincts, even if they were more along the lines of climate control and inexplicable chaos). It was a school, one that had a very haphazard interior because of how the first few generations that lived there created and expanded the rooms and then had to make ways to get to them. It had a lot of secrets, but the school itself was more a symbol than possible base of operations. A haven perhaps, but a fortress? Never. Though, it seemed that at times, the headmaster had deluded himself otherwise. Perhaps there was something the old argument of DUMBledore. Not that you could tell with the whole awesome duelling that is half for showing off...

Speaking of dumb, how was he supposed to get by these theatrical protections in a way that was both clumsy and (sad to admit) in the capabilities of his thrice damned vessel to execute, without using anything too powerful that his only means to grab the stone keeled over.

By the time a month had passed, the social hierarchy had settled down in the school. Everyone knew how everyone was treated, by sight if not by name. The Slytherins were the most obvious with this, pandering to young Draco Malfoy in quite the unsubtle manner. Only skilled or experienced eyes picked out the beginnings of the resentment that would surface later on, where the true king of the snake it would be revealed. And this was fed by the fact that Malfoy, with his family in such a high position, not only as socialites, but as the true driving force behind the Ministry, commanded obedience in more than his year. In a house of the ambitious, nothing rankled more than being under another.

But after that first month, Harry was dealt a profound blow in his self esteem. It was quite shocking to find that his much vaunted genjutsu were not the ultimate weapon he had envisioned and previously observed as being. For one thing, they refused to work completely on the half giant, Hagrid, or the part goblin Flitwick. For another thing, certain people like Dumbledore and McGonogall seemed to be able to sense the fact that there was something wrong in the presence of a genjutsu. Harry wondered if the only reason they had not passed it of as anything more than an odd feeling was because he had not subjected any of them to nightmare forming or reality masking genjutsu. No doubt they were somehow inherently able to determine that their perceptions were being tampered with, at least subconsciously. Thankfully, camouflage and invisibility genjutsu were still effective. Then again, they had never been tested against magical detection spells or wards., not active ones at any rate. And he doubted that magical sensing would detect any kind of clones as "alive".

What this meant was that now he had to retrain his skills to be primarily non chakra based. It was going to take a while, but now he had to restrain the urge to throw up a genjutsu as his preferred first response to future interlopers. It was then that he remembered that the "native" ninja seemed to be able to detect his usage of chakra. Harry clamped down the urge to be childish and either scream or pout. Was all his previous training just a waste? "Looks like I am headed for the forest sooner rather than later..." he mused.

Tetsuya silently paced in front of the outpost of Hakumei. Sure the forest was full of such nice and lovely creatures, like centaurs, acromantula, that insane werewolf couple, the rest of the set of average forest dwelling life forms he lacked sufficient interest in to warrant even the looking up of a name and what not. But it was still boring. The two "sentries" were out on patrol and he was getting bored. Ninja were such active humans that spending too much time actually motionless was quite impossible. Unless of course, you were an elder, like Hayate, or one of the diplomats, like Takeda. Those inhuman fellows were perfectly fine meditating motionless for hours on end. Tetsuya was neither elder nor diplomat. He was a poor genius of a ninja who had finally comprehended the fact that real missions are mostly boring. He was here for his weekly report, basically that he still had a stalker, but was unable to do a thing. Quite depressing for a so called prodigy of the generation. And then he saw the twitch. A bush that was purposely disturbed, to warn of company. The ninja had returned. Now Taka would finally get his report and he could go back to his useless post in the castle. He turned around. And was shocked.

"_YOU!_"

In Kyoto, magical capital of Japan, was also the home of Hakumei, the twilight guard of the magical empress, whose magical ancestor had been swiped out from the by then more "Rational" and less believing people somewhere in the 1700s. The current empress was considered the direct descendant of Amaterasu and was literally god. The fact that the magical royal family seemed to have immense and far from normal power and were near invincible sorcerers were not unhelpful to their image. In truth, the shadow emperors and empresses tended to go with magically strong spouses, eugenics that worked since the most powerful tended to be what the British tended to call Halfbloods. The somewhat strict society was flexible and benevolent enough that the few rebels were power hungry as opposed to righteous.

It was underneath this court of the gods, 12 levels below to be precise, that Hayate of the wind visited the room that was quite frankly known to exactly seven people in the living world, sole occupant included.

"Lady Chiyo, it is agreeable to see you"

Hayate was in his mid forties, a perfectly average man, one that was one of the most dangerous men on the planet. His speed, his strength, his skill was all legend. A god in his own right.

Opposite him sat a frail looking old woman, short and wrinkled, with pupil less eyes. The most gifted seer in Japan, Chiyo was also blind, two hundred years old and quadriplegic.

"Indeed young lord, your visits are far less than they once were. I rejoice in your success."

During the first few years at the top, Hayate had consulted frequently with the venerable lady, who unlike Trelawney, actually was rather rational and not prone to predicting the untimely demise of random people. She was the secret advisor, somebody whose life force would remain as long as she served the line of Amaterasu, a pesky little chinese ritual that also kept the immortal emperor, immortal, though, his was linked to his willingness to serve and better his people and lands.

In any case, once the ninja had settled into his position, he no longer had need to consult as frequently, and consequently just stopped visiting for the most inane of paperwork inquiries.

Hayate, being a ninja, and consequently a person not given to wasting time, did not let too long pass in nostalgic contemplation.

"I come before you seeking guidance. As you have advised, I have sent men to the west, where they met an individual of unknown power and loyalty, as you have foretold. However, I cannot see the path I must take. What must I do? Speak and it shall be as you command."

Sometimes formality was just plain irritating. He could not fathom how anyone could possibly tolerate the flowery language he was forced to use.

The old lady shuffled a bit and replied.

"It is difficult to say, young lord. There is no clear advice I can give, the future is clouded in this matter. Follow your heart, warrior. And take care lest your men be too hasty in word and blade. I foresee much chaos in the wake of this man. He can be a most useful ally or most troublesome foe. I can give nothing more to aid you, I fear this is as much your trial as his..."

Hayate rose and bowed, unseen as it was and left in deep thought. That was the most the seer had said and the least. She had never been this vague before either. There was nothing he could clearly use, and the interpretations were many, and he really did not want to sit down and analyse just what it all meant.

Was it too much to ask for a straight answer?

Meanwhile, Tetsuya the super ninja extraordinaire (not) was in the middle of the forbidden forest with a very unwelcome individual in front of him. It was an assumption that was quite good really. Unknown fellow who was a veritable reproduction of Uchiha Itachi, complete with straw hat, and Akatsuki robe.

"Yes, it is I, Skywalker "...said in a creepy monotone.

The figure wore most curious garb, which of course, was straw hat, black cloak with red coats, which was distinctly unfamiliar to the confused fellow. It really didn't look like anything a shinobi would wear. The insanity angle that Takeda talked about was looking more plausible by the minute. However, Tetsuya couldn't afford to flee either. The transmitter that was currently hidden was under no circumstances allowed to be discovered. Hayate would have his head...separated from the rest of him.

"Skywalker san, I cannot say it is a pleasure to meet you. May I know the purpose of our current...meeting?"

The Itachi clone looked impassive. Then he replied in the same creepy monotone.

"The castle lacks entertainment. It remains to be seen if you are more worthy of my time."

Tetsuya was now _definitely_ sure the guy was insane. MPD anyone?

And then Mr creepy monotone proceeded to whip out a large scroll from somewhere and open it, with one hand. The complex diagram on the scroll was not increasing his confidence.

And then, the guy slams his hand onto the scroll and onto the ground. For the briefest of seconds, a cloud of smoke blocked his view. And then he was treated to the sight of Skywalker standing on top of a vicious looking arachnoid _thing_, similarly patterned to the cloak he wore.

Tetsuya was just beginning to pale, when as if Lord Murphy was feeling particularly partial to him, an assortment of black blades just slid out of the limbs, body and the things jaws, the latter of which promptly began to snap at him, viciously.

Skywalker tilted his head. Tesuya gulped.

"Entertain me, Tetsuya kun"

A/N: cliffhanger!

always wanted to say that hehe :P

how was the chapter? Honestly?

A bit more back story, an view of the mental gears of a few people, the reason for magical ninja in britain...

It was written in a rather modular fashion and I'm curious how it turned out. If you find any plot holes, please do point it out. I honestly forgot half my own story...yes its embarrassing, I know.

An unintended hiatus was not the best thing to happen to this story, but hopefully my time off has made this chapter all the more read worthy for it.

Before I sign off, one final request, to all my readers...

REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, or Harry Potter. Really...

Skywalker tilted his head. Tesuya gulped.

"Entertain me, Tetsuya kun"

Tetsuya hopped back a few feet, drawing a wakizashi as he did so. This was a really really bad situation. And to top it off, he had no backup.

Skywalker had yet to move. In fact, Tetsuya was pretty sure the fellow had yet to twitch, blink or even breathe. The spider thing on the other hand was practically a living animal, stretching limbs, and making clicking noises, not to mention the hissing sound that was too close to breathing for him to be comfortable.

In spite of himself, Tetsuya took a moment to appreciate the monstrosity that would no doubt rip him to shreds in short order. It had a demonic visage, a face worthy of a true akuma, something he previously had seen only from a distance, with blades that popped out from inside its unholy maw. The limbs seemed to be made of simple wooden shafts, if one discounted the multiple blades that popped up here and there, which had a vague symmetry to it that he could not immediately discern. The torso looked about 6 feet long and the limbs were all about 5 feet long each. And there was no doubt it was full of nasty surprises just itching to destroy him.

As for himself, Patrol armor would not save him from the bite of steel, no matter how good it was. Tetsuya finally lost his cool and snapped into action. He jumped backward onto a tree branch, even as a brace of shuriken flew at the face and torso of the his expressionless opponent. While he doubted a victory was possible, he definitely had the option of stalling for time, which was what he was trying to achieve. After all, stronger opponents seemed to have the tendency to, as Takeda put it, "play with their prey". Not the most ninja-ish thing to do, but it should work in his favour.

'I hope'

The man on the arachnid casually batted away the dark blue, snowflake shaped projectiles away, using a kodachi, without the slightest worry at all. "troublesome..." was his only comment. And he made it look so damn easy! It was like facing Hayate, only worse, and with a possibility of death.

Retreat was not an option either. The outpost transmitter may not have records of signals broadcast and received, the transmitter itself was a classified design, unique to Hakumei, not to mention, freakishly expensive.

"Why are you doing this, Skywalker san? We have no reason to be fighting. We are not enemies. So why are you fighting me?"

He asked this in English, because, frankly it seemed to be his opponents preferred language. And when he didn't have a snowballs chance in hell of usurping control, it was time to break out the ass kissing, subtly of course.

"Tetsuya kun, did you not make the first move? And here I was hoping you would say a joke. Or maybe was it sing a song?"

Tetsuya was not sure exactly what was going on. On the other hand, Takedas warning about unhinged personalities was playing over and over in the back of his head...

"_Tetsuya kun, if you ever meet him again, flee. It does not matter if he is on the brink of death. Simply flee. I once read that only the truly strong can remain eccentric and still live to fight. And somebody as unsound as him even I would not care to face. For now, we will let him be, as ordered. But if he shows up at Hogwarts, retreat and tell Taka. That's an order."_

"Too late for now... Lets see long you can last against Sasori here..."

Sasori. Scorpion. As in insect with huge poisonous stinger at the end of a really long, fast and powerful tail. And the avatar of slicing and stabbing before him already was 6 feet tall. The tail was nowhere in sight. Yet.

Tetsuya turned to the colour of bleached bone. A vampire would been jealous. No doubt the man was going to cut him up into tiny pieces to scatter to the four winds or something. That is assuming he didn't simply poke him with some exotic incurable poison. He really didn't want to die. So he tried to stall.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

It was best to be blunt. Strong people aren't prone to answering annoying gnats who tried to play in a higher league. And he didn't want to talk long enough that the raw fear he had been suppressing would leak out or something.

"Well, I suppose if you do not eliminate my boredom I will have to make my displeasure known..."

That monotone was making him feel like laughing, raging, and losing bowel control. He'd already lost the psychological war. Skywalker had taken control of the situation without batting an eyelid. Well, it was time to die for his clan, his commander and the line of Amaterasu. Well that's what they kept saying when he was still an impressionable youth. He raised his blade, which he knew was totally outmatched against the chainsaw massacre that was Sasori, and charged.

The annoyingly dangerous man had meanwhile jumped off the scorpion and was watching the clash, with the same indifference that had characterized the rest this encounter.

The wakizashi he used was useless against the multiple blades of Sasori. If the spider like thing wasn't playing with him, Tetsuya had no doubt that he would have been ground meat. Really, it was just dancing through his frustrated slashes. And it wasn't even retaliating! The abomination of a spider was destroying him through sheer attrition. And if the thing was animated, as he had no doubt it was, it would keep going a lot longer than he could. In short he was doomed. He had no means to break off on his own.

Harry on the other hand was actually on a tree above the small clearing at the moment, looking somewhat introspective. His puppet was much more effective than he had anticipated. Sure, it was difficult to really control all limbs at once(shadow clones and the splitting of tasks to the rescue!), but it was still awesome. His short battle was not exactly the most amazing display of fighting ability as much as applied human psychology. Killer intent, localised genjutsu and the sight of a lot of pointy objects had been far more effective than complete mastery over taijutsu or kenjutsu could have achieved here.

Tetsuya on the other hand was trying really really hard not to lose to this seeming automaton. True, it had been scarcely 2 minutes, but he was already fully aware just how outmatched he was. Life was so unfair.

And then, with no warning, the spider peeled off, retreating to a tree trunk behind Skywalker.

Tetsuya did not even dare hope.

"Not bad Tetsuya kun...All that remains to be seen is how effective your shinobi arts are against mine..."

And then, in a very casual way, he slid the kodachi from its sheath on is back, a reverse grip that belied the true lethality of the weapon. He then flipped it in the air, catching it in a more traditional grip. After giving a few practice slashes that seemed to highlight the speed at which he could move, the blade was pointed right at the Japanese boy. Then, out of nowhere, his left hand had a kunai in it, a defensive stance.

"Shall we spar, Tetsuya kun?"

The next 3 minutes can be basically summarised as the most embarrassing beating Tetsuya had ever received. He was beaten with basically what amounted to brawler tactics, even if he granted that fellow was stronger and faster than he could personally become in the next few years. The strange magics the guy used was obviously more potent and capable in more ways than he had imagined possible. This man was a formidable foe. And even if he hadn't done anything to him, other than humiliating him with light taps instead of killing blows, this was something else.

Harry was, for once actually in combat. It would not do to simply send shadow clones at everything. Not to mention, he didn't want to rely on genjutsu to ensure that Tetsuya wouldn't catch any clone going 'poof'. So he had faced off one on one against the well trained fellow in front of him. However, Harry was still more skilled. He had spent quite a four years in pursuit of the art of combat, and he was still an excellent taijutsu user. While he doubted his was the way of Maito Guy, he was far more capable of beating people than the average martial artist. Fighting against multiple enemies that could do what he did, only without fear of injury meant that he had to fight the experimental and highly imaginative "super" clones of himself that could and had been turned into everything from berserkers to speed demons. Sure, it gave too much off a headache to even think about using in combat(memories of popped clones that went to one of the various 'super' modes were plain debilitating,even with his inhuman Vernon given tolerance to pain. Something to do with the limits of the jutsu he guessed, even if it was merely a sacrifice of one ability for a better version of another). Stealing moves and watching the spars at various dojos did the rest. Sure, it wasn't Japan, but there were still the ones in and around London, few as they were. At the moment, he was using kendo, just a lot more flashy and stronger and faster. The joys of chakra augmentation...

Harry had consciously chosen to limit his arsenal. What he wanted was a one on one fight if he chose to end it with clones or spiked pits? No this was a spar, at least as far as he was concerned. From the Japanese ninja's fight with the multiple clone controlled Sasori, Harry knew that he could beat the other boy. It was simply a difference of skill. It was highly unlikely that _both_ of them were as fanatic about taijutsu as Harry was after all.

It was infuriating. No matter how much energy and effort he pushed into his arms and legs, he was utterly useless against his opponent, who kept himself just a bit faster, just a bit stronger, just a bit _better_. And the worst part was, Skywalker was blocking his expert strikes with a tiny kunai and swatting at him with the reverse edge of the kodachi. However, Tetsuya himself retained just enough sanity and rationalized that at least he doesn't seem to want to kill me...'. So much for the great prodigy.

By the end, he was so tired that he simply collapsed and refused to move from his spot. He lay on his back, breathing heavily and wondering what came next. He also had the irrational urge to write a haiku on the futility of life and struggle.

Skywalker bent down over him, looking as unruffled as the start of the encounter. Sasori was now nowhere in sight.

"You are of interest to me Tetsuya kun. I must admit that my curiosity has been satisfied. Perhaps in a few years you will truly be an interesting opponent"

The man walked away, the soundless footfalls not leaving a trace of their passage.

As his head fell sidewards, Tetsuya could just make out a chuckle as he left.

And with that, the cloaked figure was gone, as if he never was there. Tetsuya still lay on the forest floor, on a bed of leaves, limbs flayed out and notched blade beyond his reach. He fell unconscious, shortly before as his comrades landed beside him, to dispense aid. Till he woke up, all they had were questions.

Deep in the bowels of castle Hogwarts, a different encounter was taking place, The staff meeting was somewhat irregular in frequency. Partly because there really wasn't that much to talk about that needed every single teacher to attend. Gossip could be done elsewhere and all the real bragging was done at the staff table in the great hall anyway. Albus Dumbledore, headmaster and holder of titles too numerous for use in casual conversation watched as his staff good naturedly bickered over such things as quidditch, their students, and all round gossip.

The headmaster himself was not party to this, because strictly speaking, he was the neutral fellow. Not that anyone minded, even if McGonogall was at his side so he caught more than a fair bit about Gryffindor, his old house.

Even the otherwise surly Severus Snape was not above sneering at everyone else and bragging about the best in his house. But then, when it was _the Severus Snape_ who did the bragging, everyone listened. Because unless it was bemoaning about 'that Potter spawn', the man had very little to say at all. He was a Slytherin. And they really weren't supposed to waste their breath on trivialities

Today though, was special. Today was the day that Dumbledore was finally going to ask about two students who were odd in some ways, Harry Potter and Tetsuya Watanabe.

Harry Potter was an enigma. His classmates considered him odd. He was never without either a blank expression or an insane one. It was difficult to say exactly what went on in that mind of his. Not that he was a bad student, in fact he was far from it. But he seemed always distracted, as if he was lost in the contemplation of weighty matters.

And then there was his seeming familiarity with the maze that was Hogwarts. He never got lost. Ever. It was inconceivable for a first year to not get lost even once. It was something he had the portraits and prefects confirm. While It wasn't really possible for the headmaster to know everything that went on in Hogwarts, some people were specially monitored, including Harry.

The boy had managed to shatter a lot of expectations. He was not a Gryffindor, he had yet to be heroic, and he was a textbook Ravenclaw. All he did was read, every single minute of the day Although, Minerva's account had managed to give him a headache, this was even worse. The boy was a figurehead, whether he chose to acknowledge it or not. But he was isolating himself from everyone. He had few friends, even if most of his year were acquaintances. He had yet to even talk with any of the 'declared' families, like the Malfoys or Weasleys. No indication the ministry was getting their hooks on him either. Not that he was expected to. The boy didn't know magic was real until his eleventh birthday. Even he couldn't really make an inroad casually as it was. And with the kind of drama that would arise when Voldemort raised his ugly head again, there was no way to insulate or prepare the boy.

As he was lost in his thoughts, a trinket in one of his pockets began to warm up, telling him that one of his old friends wanted to speak to him. Considering just who it was, there was no doubt that the situation was serious. He excused himself, causing not too little excitement among his staff. As such, he missed the curious gazes of many and the narrowed eyes of one Severus Snape. However, he would not have been surprised to know that the potions masters thought processes revolved around a goldmine of (non magical) curses and the words 'that Potter brat'.

True, he had not managed to learn more about the two different children for now, but whatever it was could not possibly be as important as any news that sent Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody out of retirement.

His head felt horrible. His limbs were non responsive. The familiar 'feeling' of an ally registered itself before his body began to move. Not that he could at the moment. All his muscles were numb. His carefully honed reflexes numb. Of course, that probably had to do with the liquid filled, black metallic "vat" his body was in. Only his head was visible above it, like a macabre mantelpiece.

It was a Chinese invention, a recent one called 'Dragon Tear Enclosure'. It was basically a medicinal bath of sorts, filled with an infusion draught that was known as 'Dragon Tears'. It was quick, somewhat painless, and very expensive. The body basically floated, but could be restrained, if it was necessary, like in case of a spinal injury or the patient was a prisoner. Head injuries were treated more traditionally. And it was only done for important people, usually anyway.

"How do you feel Tetsuya?"

It was Taka. Trying to get Kenji to talk was like doing an appendectomy on yourself with a rusty spoon. He was more silent assassin of the two. It had something to do with a vow of silence.

"I am unfit for duty."

Short and to the point, with words you couldn't torture out of a Hakumei ninja. There was no greater humiliation than to be an invalid ninja, unable to complete his duty. And now that day had arrived, even if for just a while.

"I see."

A short silence followed. Taka gave a sigh and asked,

"Who?"

"Skywalker"

Taka, third best tracker ninja in the eastern territories groaned in a 'why me?' manner. But he stayed silent, waiting for the words that would follow. The seemingly unflappable stance however, was bringing up unforgettable memories that scared the life out of Tetsuya. The raw fear brought from killing intent was nigh impossible to forget, especially for a rookie like Tetsuya, who knew _about_ the true horrors in the world, but was still too young to actually understand what those horrors meant.

"He said that he was bored, that it was a spar. He also has a combat automaton with him. It looked like some kind of monstrous puppet. I was unable to even touch him or that spider he called "Sasori". He could have killed me at any time. He said I would be an interesting opponent in a few years."

Taka frowned.

"I see..."

Tetsuya however, found one detail that was odd. One thing that really didn't make sense.

"What are my injuries that require me to recuperate in this device?"

"It is not so much that you are on the brink of death as that this is the only method to get you in optimal condition in by the time school begins. You fought above your current limits and under normal circumstances, would have been confined to rest. However since we cannot afford to slip up in the mission, Hayate sama has authorized the use of the 'Dragon Tear Enclosure' for any injury that would otherwise incapacitate you for more than a day. "

Tetsuya gaped. 'this mission...it is more important than I ever imagined. I will not fail again!'

"Rest for now. Prepare a report when you are well. I will inform Takeda that you have awakened. If you make contact again, do **not** engage. Retreat at once. Unfortunately, you are far too inexperienced as of now. You're training will be advanced by Kenji next weekend. If possible, I will attempt to acquire a stealth unit to enter the castle. If the person shadowing you is indeed Skywalker, you might need an escort."

Taka turned and left, leaving the healing ninja behind him.

In another part of the forbidden forest, a different meeting was taking place. Through his idiotic minion Quirrel, Voldemort was now trying to set in motion a plan to steal the holy grail of alchemy, the philosophers stone. Immortality and unending wealth. Both would be his soon.

The Hogs Head, was generally known as the shadier of the pubs that served the populous of the village of Hogsmeade. Its caretaker was Aberforth Dumbledore, the partially estranged younger brother of Albus. The pub, despite its reputation, was not really a rotten place. But the reputation it possessed, kept both the ones who wished to hide in, and the children who might otherwise be tempted out. It also gave a watering hole to people who might otherwise end up in the company of impressionable children. Consequently, the pub existed at the sufferance of the ministry and the headmaster, the known devil of shady spots, but occasionally used for the same nonetheless.

This was part of the reason that Headmaster Dumbledore and "Mad-Eye" Moody were meeting at an unoccupied table next to the wall in Hogs Head. Not that it really mattered. The headmaster was polyjuiced into a near vagrant of a wizard, exactly the kind of seedy person found in a known to be seedy bar. After the obligatory display of (necessary) paranoia, the serious part began.

"What is the matter my friend? Why a sudden meeting?"

Dumbledore was a changed man. He looked dirty, and a charm ensured that was all that others would really remember, assuming they did not forget he existed.

"Its a very serious matter Albus. We don't know why, but as of two days ago, and I just verified this, a full platoon of _ninja_ are operating in London. The ministry doesn't know, but Amelia may. She's a sharp one. As for the ninja themselves, I don't know for what or for why, but it can't be good."

Now, under normal circumstances to normal British magic users, the word ninja will not mean anything at all. Albus Dumbledore on the other hand was somewhat of a scholar and had heard stories.

He first heard of them in reference to the Russo-Japanese War (1904-1905). While the just concluded, the Sino-Japanese war had been assumed to have an almost zero magical component with only muggles involved. The eastern territories were united, of sorts. The war with Russia however, was a slaughter. There were rumours of a Russian warlock strike team, as they might be called today, that was sent to Japan for some reason. They disappeared. Later on, of the seventy nine warlocks deployed at Port Arthur for one reason or the other, not a single one ever returned to Russia. From what eyewitness reports and divinations gathered, they were all cut down one at a time,in the hour before the Japanese navy attacked. Within months, assassinations on prominent warlocks were almost hourly occurrences in the homeland, focused on Moscow, and St Petersburg, weakening the magical effectiveness of the Russian Royalty. The revolution was said to have succeeded in no small part because much of the magical chain of command had been wiped out and infighting had reduced them to a pathetic shell of the organized force the warlocks were. Even if the magicals on the communist side were communist as such, they were still motivated sufficiently to go for a magical coup alongside the revolution.

After that war, nobody attempted to poke whatever hornets nest there lay in the eastern territories. Even the very word 'ninja' would come out only later. Whatever the world thought of the traditional Priests or Onmyouji, unstoppable assassins was not it. On another note, in WW2, wizards did not even try to get Japan to enter the war. Long memories and the prospects of annihilation were very effective. Quite a few American wizards disappeared in 1946 though, in presumed retaliation for Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Native shaman communities, however were untouched.

By the time the cold war started, the Magical Russia had begun to open up to the world, even as they disappeared from the minds of muggle Russians themselves. The stories began to grow. Demons. Shadows. Ghosts. Ruthless Killers. Immortal. These were just some of the qualities ascribed to the mythical ninja.

Eastern immigrants were tight lipped, and even truth serums would not loosen their tongues, at least for useful information.

However, there were some who were willing to speak, and what they said was far more frightening. Ninja seemed to be killers, a whole army of magical killers who, from birth to death lived to kill. Humans capable of taking on Chinese War mages one on one, and winning. It was the stuff fear was made of.

And now, years after any tangible news about them, real live ninja were in London of all places. Obviously it was not an assassination that was being plotted. If it was, they wouldn't have set up shop anywhere. The target would simply have been dead and done with.

This was far worse. If the ministry had any inkling of how dangerous these people were...

You wouldn't need a dark lord to destroy the wizarding world.

"Is there _any_ clue about their objective?"

Moody shook his scarred head. The mans face clearly showed what he thought about the whole situation.

"That's not all though."

Albus Dumbledore wearily looked at his long time ally and comrade. He let out a near pitiful groan.

"There's more?"

"There's was a Dragon Boat floating over London."

Albus Dumbledore let forth a most dreadful curse. He whispered a furiously.

"Merlin! Are you telling me that the _Chinese_ are involved now!"

Moody chuckled pitifully.

"Constant Vigilance! Pays of again... Again, I'm none too sure if the ministry knows. But what I am sure is that even if a whole battalion of their War Mages landed in force, those idiots would still think the world revolves around 'em."

Albus blinked.

"How did you find out? Neither the Department of Mysteries nor the DMLE has the resources to track or even detect those ships. Even you have heard of the rumour that the Chinese have managed to travel to the moon on those vessels. Imagine...to travel the great beyond in-"

Moody growled. Those eastern territories were problematic. To them, Voldemort was a spoiled little child. Even the so called great Dark Lord knew that. Not even Voldemort was fool enough to risk the wrath of the immortal emperor. There was a reason why people did not mention the east except in ignorance. An entire part of the planet, with -must-not-be-named notoriety with respect to those in the know. As for the rest of the people, well they were called sheep for a reason.

"It's a dark artefact, a mirror of sorts which can only detect those who intend to remain hidden. It spotted the ship as it flew right over my house."

Dragon Boats were the flying Battleships of the Imperial Japanese Navy, the largest of which were the 400 feet long behemoths called Zheng-He. They were ships of the line, crewed by Merlin knew how many. There had never been a situation where the east and west had clashed spectacularly enough that these avatars of destruction had cause to ever be used. And now, one was in London.

"I'll need more firewhiskey ."

Albus calmly walked out of the pub with a detached air, his vagrant appearance disturbed by none. He was almost panicking. Even though he knew that an invasion was not likely(mostly because there was little that measly old England could offer them) his head was still wildly generating vague and what would have passed as comedic visions of destruction of wizardry. It was so bad he forgot about his precious lemon drops. At the moment, Voldemort resurrecting was preferable.

High above Diagon Alley, a few kilometres really, the Spirit Shadow lay motionless, as it simply ignored the powerful winds that buffeted the massive eighty meter or two hundred and sixty foot ship as it floated high above the commercial capital of Magical Britain. It was one of the few ships of the line serving the Kyoto Guard, the armed wing of magical Japan. Of course, the fact that its current mission was similar to that of a muggle AWAC aircraft was not known to anyone below. Not that this would have been reassuring, just that it was merely less violent for a ship of its class.

Unlike its muggle counterpart, magical Japan was not under any of the various treaties and policies that the United States imposed on Japan. World War II really had very little effect on the Eastern Territories. After the turn of the century, none of the western magical governments dared to look east. Grindelwald pushed his hardest against the Russians,confident of his victory over the by then 'quantity over quality' warlocks, but he dared not even approach China.

The magical world in China was not as out of order as the wizarding world. There was no 'hiding in plain sight' as the Wizards practised. Tall underground towers (well if they were overground it would have been a tower) dotted the country in a loose grid pattern. They were the Towers of Ignorance, Enormous anchor points that enshrouded the land in a matrix of mass proportions, one that made it impossible for the ordinary people to notice anything magical. There was no need of obliviators. Why obliviate when you can prevent the memory from happening in the first place? Even the Great Wall had a few, conveniently ignored by the Mongol horde who as fate would have it, did not have access to sorcery of any sorts.

All this meant that Eastern Territory had magically trained armed forces which had existed from long long ago. The navy, which was the Dragon Boats or airships of the land were an integral part of this. After the fiasco with rogue ninja, Japan had commissioned her own navy, with ships supplied by the immortal emperor. And unlike the wooden sail less junks they so resembled, the Dragon Boats were impressive vessels, that were still used more than occasionally in space. Magic was truly wonderful.

Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor. One of the most dedicated, rational and knowledge oriented individuals in perhaps all of history had been sorted into Gryffindor. Fate truly had a horrific sense of humour at times. The girl had wanted the red and gold, thanks in no part to the documented reputation of Dumbledore, and she had been granted that desire. But after a mere two weeks in class, she was quickly starting to become disillusioned.

When Hermione had first heard of the magical world, she was sceptical. When she was presented proof, she was ecstatic. A whole new world, filled with new things to learn, new things to know, a world away from the current one, which she somewhat despised. True, the books were great, but it had no meaning for her. For Hermione was a creature of pride. She revelled in the knowledge that she knew more than others, that she was better than them. But that was irrelevant when she discovered that her impressive knowledge only served to distance her away from her peers. They mocked her and she did not take it well. She withdrew into a shell. A rose cursed to never bloom.

The cruellest of creatures is the human child. Ignorant of consequences, they destroy lives.

And then the letter came. It was an opportunity. She did not hesitate. Her eleven year old brain had not comprehended the enormity of that decision at the time. Like a mouse, eager to escape her cage, she had pounced on her own escape. Her parents recognized and allowed this, for they wanted their daughter happy after all. But deep down, they knew that she was already lost to them, that they were just two middle class dentists, whose daughter had left them behind...

And now, Hermione wondered if it was not the old world but _her_ that was at fault. She had not realized that the same thought processes that drove her into isolation in primary school would repeat its terrible history here also. And now, she was paying. Many a night were spent crying to sleep, a sorrow that only the truth could produce, that she was not liked. At all.

It was not like she was friendless from the very beginning. But when seawater is harder than your friend's spine, it quickly became meaningless.

It was at times like these that she prayed that someone would rescue her from the rut, that somebody out there would save her from this unseen hell, with flaming mockery and brimstone words. So what if she was a lot more grown up than the average eleven year old? She was allowed her share of the not too uncommon romantic fantasies. Sure, her physiology did not allow for the formation of...in depth dreams, but the whole story tale comes true type daydream had a certain charm to it. And given the fact that she had read those kind of books so very long ago, she literally dreamed about it.

But alas, her very imaginative scenarios about rescue, rescuer and love (of which she had no real clue about either) were doomed to die a tragic, tragic death, from starvation. Logic had asserted itself and two weeks after school had begun, she had closed up, again.

That is not to say that she and her careless tormentors ignored each other. No, she had hidden away her emotions and her dreams. She had turned into a machine, one which continued to be mocked. And it was the fact that it was her "family" as McGonogall had so offhandedly mentioned house mates as being, that were doing this that rankled. It was one thing when known bigots crushed her spirit. But when the "light" acted like the "dark", sad things happen.

Of course, what had been done against the poor girl were less than that she had suffered from primary school. But the stress and the pain, the dreams and crumbled expectations, they all gathered together and began to chip away at the normality of Hermione's psyche.

If she had any real distraction, or a sympathetic ear, if not a friend, she might have left this downward spiral of depressing logic that made sense to her and actually survived with her sanity somewhat intact. Alas, for in this world, she found that without some great and wondrous figure around to occupy the wasted time of the populace, a person to torment is quite the handy catch. And so they did it, all those shiny examples of pride and courage, a whole battalion of red and gold wearing demons who sought entertainment through the misery of others. Or at least her.

After a certain indeterminate point, when the realization that she was going to be forever alone finally sunk in, Hermione finally snapped. Dual personality syndrome doesn't just pop out of thin air after all. Especially not when the original personality committed seppuku.

In any case, this new Hermione found some very interesting things about herself. She was stronger, faster, more agile, or rather she was closer to using her bodies true ability. She was like _the_ Hermione Jane Granger, only better. The Mr Hyde to the cremated Dr Jekyll. She was also more free to indulge, having lost most of her inhibitions, and all of her morals. Of course, born as she was from the near listless yet negativity seeped subconscious of Hermione, this personality had the urge to destroy. The idea of revenge, or at the extreme end, the _vendetta_ was incredible. Schadenfreude was the name of the game. And following the pattern of all insanity, in the first moments after creation, she was already going through her mental list of targets...er..tormentors, the ones that were _marked_. True, she was not betrayed in any manner, but even the slightest of mental shifts can exaggerate the perceived slight to near cataclysmic proportions. And at eleven, that level of hatred can be spawned from something as simple and yet so terrible as bullying.

As the individual in question was a walking insanity plea, it is a good thing her first words were never heard or recorded. Gryffindor was going to be an interesting place to live in. Unless of course, your name happened to be Ronald Billius Weasley. Because, he was first on the cull without killing list. But just not yet. Even the insane take time to plot.

Of course, Hermione quickly mellowed out a bit. She was still quite rational, and did not really want to be mad. So she managed to restore her personality somewhat. Visible madness was just poor planning. So she reigned herself in, negating most of the insanity she had suffered, toning down her urges, her desires, _her purpose_. And from her third week she spent her time in between wandering the castle and the library. Both to occupy herself, and to gain data.

A week later, she hit the jackpot. She found a house elf, an average example of the species, Tiggy her name was, who Hermione began to keep company. A part of her railed against the injustice, the slavery, the inhumanity, but it was silenced before it started. In this world, there was her, and there was them. And Tiggy was not her.

In two days of random conversations, she practically had a minion. The elf was one of the innumerable servants of the castle. She was among the smaller ones there and was not allowed to work as much. It was a stain on her pride and honour. A house elf not allowed to work to her hearts content. Death was preferable to her humiliation.

Hermione suggested the elf worked for _her_. She needed help in her crusade, and the if the elf was it, she could save the creature without having to compromise her new world views. By the end of said third week, it was done. Dumbledore was positively delighted to free the elf. He had a very minute idea that the elf was unhappy, and was glad to free her on the understanding that she was going to a place where her work would be appreciated. If one more creature was happier, so was he.

The fourth week of school was the clincher. The come and go room, the masterpiece of magical masonry. It was a treasure trove. It was a sanctuary. It was hers. Tiggy even helped her to design a 'happy place' a natural setting that was designed to let her relax.

In her sanctuary, Hermione told the elf about her life, her past, her present and her plans for the future. And Tiggy was fully convinced that hers was the worthy mistress. She swore a magical oath to serve her mistress unquestionably till death. And Hermione swore her own oath to do right by _her_ elf.

On the very Saturday that Harry and Tetsuya were doing their "spar", Hermione found something that would change her life. She had asked the elf to gather everything muggle in the room. And then she found 'it'. The thing did not react to the elf, but it did for her.

It was in the come and go room, specifically in the room of that which was hidden. The item in question was a revolver. Except, this revolver was a very powerful demonic artefact. A trinket left behind by a bored creature. A creature who in its native plain was an avatar of violence.

As soon as she touched it, she found herself in a void. A raspy voice asked her,

"_What do you seek?_"

Hermione, this Hermione responded without hesitation. But she also noted that her answers were far simpler and far more honest than she would have given...

"Vengeance"

"_Who do you seek vengeance upon?_"

"Them!"

The images of her tormentors flashed before her eyes. She knew she was being judged.

"_Will you __**sacrifice**__?_"

"Yes"

She felt odd. Something was happening.

A chant began to ring in her ears. It was a command and an invocation. She felt her body bend and buckle.

And then she was engulfed by light.

Outside wherever her mistresses mind was, Tiggy saw a flash of light before she saw that her mistress had changed. Indeed, she was still her mistress, but she was not human

Harry Potter in the meantime was doing just about fine. He was not in pain. He did not have any overpowered S class, long tongued, cursed hickey giving shinobi out to get him and he was perfectly happy with the current progress on his too many bladed spider analogue named Sasori. True, he was totally stumped on how you were supposed to create a summoning contract, and for that matter what exactly he could summon(unicorns and faeries? Assuming he could _find_ one of course...). But it was the thought that he wasn't completely wasting his time that counted.

The Monday after the Saturday melee, Harry had been pleasantly surprised to see his outmatched opponent walking around as if normal. True, there wasn't any evidence to suggest otherwise, but he had a feeling that the Japanese assassin would have been a little more sore than his current behaviour seemed to suggest. Maybe magical healing was even more advanced than he had previously thought.

Overall, he was satisfied with his performance. True, he had stuck with basic kenjutsu, but he was reasonably skilled. Now he had to stick with his training and all would be well. Well that was the plan. Anyway, since his spar with Tetsuya was now officially dead and done with, he could go on to his main reason for spending time in the forbidden forest.

Acromantula were essentially giant spiders. However, whatever they started off as, magic had made them stronger, faster and as mentioned, bigger. Their venom was deadly mostly due to the magical aspects, but its neurotoxic component was pure evolution and chemistry. Acromantula silk was exceptionally tough and often used as in light duelling robes. The silk was also capable of being drawn to exceptionally strong and thin wires that showed the extremely incredible physical properties of the strongest normal spider silk, only here this property is seen at the macroscopic scale. With luck, he could finally have ninja wire of the quality he needed without having to delve into enchanting.

The next potions class provided a change from the dull monotony of daily magical education. Indeed, Hufflepuff was in special form, having no less than seven spectacular explosions in one double hour. The chaos was glorious. Harry could even understand Deidara for a moment.

Of course, magnificent art of destruction aside, Snape stated, almost spontaneously that "Potter, you have detention at six." No reason was given. Considering that by now he had an honour guard of about 5 clones now, he didn't let too much caution show in his behaviour. So he did show up at six, with invisible escort crawling along the walls, all with a hand on blade.

Considering the dark and brooding man that was Severus Snape, his office matched him to a tee. Not surprisingly, there were plenty of potions ingredients. However, the lack of any cauldrons told harry that this man preferred his brewing in private. So he _was_ a professional.

Snape was seated at his desk and looking at him with beady little eyes, somehow managing to convey disgust, annoyance and apathy all with that one look. This guy just had to be the real live version of Ibiki! Such indifferent malevolence! Harry wondered what dark and mysterious life had driven this man to achieve this command of body language.

On the other hand, what Snape, and Harry's somewhat focused clones saw was an eleven year old boy staring dreamily at Snape's rather expressive mug and giggling maniacally. Snape wondered what dark and mysterious life Dumbledore had arranged for the son of his nemesis that turned the boy into a mad prodigy. He was really beginning to wish that Potters were born to destroy him. The father, his life and the son, his..._sanity_.

"Potter! Do you know why you're here?"

Snape sneered at the boy, hoping to merlin that he would snap out of it. Indeed, with one last giggle, the boy had totally transformed, turning into the somewhat reclusive bookworm the rest of the world knew him as. But that knowing grin was quite literally spine chilling.

"No professor. I do not."

Snape looked at him and asked clearly,

"Were you in the forbidden forest this Saturday?"

Harry's left eyebrow rose to his hairline. It looked quite ridiculous on an eleven year old, but was a powerful expression none the less.

"No sir. Why do you ask sir?"

Well it was not that he had a reason, but that boy Lucius had brought in from the east was quite twitchy as he had mentioned his encounter with "semi hostile aggressive individual". And Snape had automatically blamed Potter so instinctively that he had felt the need to bring him in and question him without distraction.

However, while Potter had actually said no, the impression he got was a 'yes'. But that couldn't be it, could it? His instincts were telling him that Potter _was_ in the forest on Saturday and that he had an _excellent_ idea exactly why he was asking. Snape was a master of emotional control, and the feeling he got from the boy was quite disturbing, especially now that he had spent five minutes staring at the boy. Never had anyone felt so _intimidating_ before. Dumbledore looked like a squib at the moment. He was half tempted to bow down to his lord. It almost made him believe that the rumours that the dark lord had possessed his last, attempted victims body. But no, this boy was more than anything that fool could have been. He was in the presence of greatness, one that he had taken a lot of pain to irritate. And even that gaze that held such madness...

The boy had spent the whole time staring at him, with an impassivity to match his own. It was unnerving, and told him the boy did not fear him. It was not that Snape was a particularly not scary person. There was no doubt that his death eater past was already a hushed whisper among the first years, his dark arts knowledge known to all. He was _the_ most fearsome person in Hogwarts. But the boy did not care. What the boy possessed was the quite calm of knowing that nothing the other person could do would be a problem in any way. Absolute control. Just like the Dark Lord. Even if he suddenly tried to Avada Kedavra the Potter, he doubted that he would get a raised eyebrow, if that. That is, before Severus Snape became a disembowelled, dismembered and stain on the floor. And in that moment, Snape realized that Harry James Potter was a monster.

"It's nothing you have to worry about. I had to make sure that you weren't making trouble, just like your father! Now get out. Your detention is over!"

And with that, he was gone, bellowing cloak and all. Five minute later, he was safely ensconced in his private lab, nursing firewhiskey and contemplating his bitter lot in life. He did not hate Harry Potter. He feared him. That Potter boy obviously had something to do with the Lucius's pet ninja. And that fool had no idea what he was playing with either. This was all one big mess. And if Harry Potter ever found out that he was the one responsible for his getting orphaned... He took another long gulp. Nursing a drink was for sissies anyway

Harry Potter did not know what had just happened, but he was sure that the professor had made one conclusion or the other. It could not be helped. Only time would tell what this would lead to, but it was troublesome none the less. At least he had gotten one peace of useful information. Snape hated his father, and probably by proxy, him. At least he hadn't reached death threats or assassination attempts, so there was still hope.

What was interesting was how the whole thing had ended. Snape was somewhat flustered. Either an unexpected magical communication, perhaps an alarm or so, or an unpleasant epiphany. If it was the latter, this could complicate things. Harry let loose a tired groan. He slipped into his adopted language and mumbled.

"Mendokuse..."

A/N: Hello again!

Even more back story, but its my ties into my explanation of why nothing of the sort is seen in canon.

Basically, China and Japan are seen as the big bad and are carefully avoided. The only reason they appear is because some old lady made a prophesy. Go figure.

Don't know how I did the fight scene, but I've tried my best. I'm not going to bother with extremely complicated word choreography because 1. I suck at it, and 2. Reading which body part strikes which is not going to advance my story at all. I apologise if I disappointed any true believers.

The fight with the puppet is a case of one against many. Harry basically used many clones to offset the advantage of actual ninja training for the first field trial of his weapon. Later he will get better. And Harry himself is slightly better because all he did was train to fight. Tetsuya would have trained to be many many things, and would have had to learn languages, customs, and a whole lot of crap Harry cannot possibly imagine.

Dumbles is gonna get skittish. All that stress cannot be good for him. Mad eye is plain paranoid, except its real this time. If anybody had the equipment to detect advanced magical cloaking, its him.

I wanted to show the existance of a magical community that didn't sit on its butt for the last 500-1000 years. So I made one up. In here, china is the superpower. They've gone to space. They have flying batlleships, cloaking devices(well magic) and a whole bunch of toys the western world has never seen. Not going to affect the plot tooo much.

Oh yeah. Crazy Hermione. Because there's not enough crazy in this world. Hermione is not a love interest. Frankly, it amazes me how so many people can imagine that eleven is a perfectly acceptable age for romancing and going all mushy. Seriously! Eleven? What's next, babies having candle light dinners?

So to reiterate: _**no mushies,**_ not anytime soon anyway. I'm not too big on slash either, so no Harry/Tetsuya either.

There are no real good or evil sides here, except for voldie, who is the 'just plain evil' stereotype, and then the crazies. All of these people are trying to protect and advance their own interests in various ways. And their alliances and hostilities will shift with time, depending on the situation.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I'm not here right now. Please leave a disclaimer after the beep..._beeeeep!_

On a Saturday that the gods forgot, a demon was born. A human, consumed by the abyss of righteous fury, sacrificed her humanity and gained power. It might be said that what she gained was far more helpful to her than anything the world could offer her. For even as the trappings of hairless apes were torn asunder, the vestiges of insanity were washed away. The result, was not human. But all the same, where there is birth, there is also death. In other words, a very dramatic way of saying that Hermione Granger was having a bad day.

"Tiggy? Is that you? What happened? Where are you? Who turned down the lights?"

Hermione stumbled. The formerly shocked elf quickly regained her senses and got her mistress to lie down. With tear filled eyes, she could not even think clearly. Something had happened and she was powerless. She had been unable to help her mistress at all. Only the command that she never punish herself without permission stopped her from destroying the surrounding junk on an elf cranium(which is very sturdy to keep the elf alive after all those punishments.

"Mistress! (sob) Bad Tiggy! Bad!"

She wailed in her misery, wishing for a way to atone. Her mistress looked slightly pale, and her warmth slowly ebbed away into the cold stone floors of the Come and Go room. But that wasn't it. Her mistress would not even die human. The magic of the mistress, the human magic was gone, but Hermione herself remained, a strand of hope for the unfortunate elf. Unbidden, memories arose, the memory of her mother telling her about the bond and the consequences of "freedom"...

And as if waiting for that thought to manifest, the bond was gone. Hermione was dead. The poor elf was hysterical. She could already feel the magical madness that was creeping in her mind, the punishment of all "free" elves, the final "reward" for daring to be free. She knew was not strong enough to resist it. Nobody was.

Of course, that particularly depressing and possibly suicidal line of thought was promptly ended when a magic circle appeared in the midst of the junk in the room and a white ring rose up above it, vanishing at a certain height like a shower of petals. What appeared was a formless "ghost". The glowing-shadow effect was highly irregular, not to mention the feel of all invasive power. Tiggy had all of two seconds to take in the scene before her primitive senses overloaded with awesome power and she blacked out.

The being that appeared was a peculiar one. It did not have a name for beings similar to it. In fact, since it was an actual shape shifter, this type of creature was never identified as a separate species.

If it had to be named though, the creature would have called itself a chaos creature. Not because of its actions or desires, but because the magical aura it produced could after a certain "age" be used to consciously defy and rewrite the laws of space and time and all the other laws that have and have not been discovered. Something that has the surprising ability to wreck the threads of fate and destiny. A god like being, if it was motivated. Immortality tends to make lazy creatures though. They were after all a remnant of the psychic imprint of the soup from which the universe was born. A being that existed from before the universe's creation and bound by none of its rules.

The few times such creatures had shown themselves to humanity, they were called demons and attacked. Since killing off idiots such as them was too much of a hassle compared to going home, they remained alive to spread the increasingly exaggerated tales of demons and otherworldly creatures. Who knew horns, tails, wings and claws were so problematic when dealing with these mortals? Didn't similar creatures exist just the while ago? Honestly! (A/N: dinosaurs in case you were wondering)

This particular creature had appeared with a purpose. One of its "seed" artifacts had been activated. Considering that the number of "pure" (by the creatures own definition of course. Mortal languages are woefully inadequate and do not make very good mediums for conveying multifaceted concepts) souls that could conceivably do that were one every couple of generations (that is, after factoring the probabilities of _anyone_ finding these things) it was a rare event.

A millennium and a half ago, a "seed" artifact had been triggered in plain sight and it "keeper" had triggered the "ascension" of one previously mortal female human before whisking her away, in plain sight of a bunch of humans chasing said individual for imagined witchcraft. And lo, humanity was never the same again. The effects of those 87 seconds on human history and mythology will never be accounted for.

_This_ particular creature, who for reference's sake shall be named Joe, was quite surprised when it felt the birth of a new chaos creature. Considering that this particular species do not, as a rule gain new members every other day, it was...unusual. They did die of sheer boredom sometimes though...hence the need for new blood.

At any rate, it had a job to do so Joe raised a ghostly hand and pointed it at the girl. She was still partly corporeal and would remain in that form for a thousand years or so before she truly left this world for "home". Something every single chaos creature lived through. To help keep their sometimes odd and sudden transformations in perspective, a full fledged member of their race supplied the 'newborns' with seed knowledge, a repository of information, select memories and a smidgen of personality all on a sort of timed release and even then mostly subconscious. You can't have immortality and sanity without some personality quirks...and having a quirk such as "destroy random planets and stars every (289 human years) " had been enough for once. Guiding a newborn to a relatively harmless hobby was quite necesssary. Looking around, Joe contemplated the revolver before making a decision.

Being a being of chaos, Joe felt that at least one more random act of chaos just _had_ to be perpetrated before returning. And spotting the poor unconscious elf gave the otherworldly creatures...ideas.

A few minutes of reality bending action later, the entity disappeared, never to be seen on this plane of existence again. As in the entropic-end-of-the-universe never. For all purposes, "the deed" was done.

Hermione woke up to the most pounding headache that she could ever remember having. The phrase "Oh my [censored] head" was uttered a few times. The cause of the headache was that being a radically new species had given her senses far beyond human comprehension. Considering she was no longer human, it wouldn't be a problem for long.

Sight, sound, smell and touch were the identifiable senses were enhanced. With a time delay on the instinct information 'package', it would be a while before she could catalog them all. For the time being, with control over her new god like abilities (eventually) being non existent, she was just a really enhanced human, one that didn't even know that it was immortal. Hermione Jane Granger was, for all purposes an infant, albeit destined not to remain one for long. She didn't even have her basic motor control down. All so...random.

She had woken up holding a weapon, a Colt .45 Single Action Army, known to some as The Peacemaker. No markings of identification, except for an embossed skull motif on its polished wooden handle. Chrome death, at its finest. Of course, being a magical artifact handled by a chaos creature had left its mark, turning what was once a mediocre corroded piece of junk into a magical transformation artifact. It had all sorts of mentally controlled shooting options, keyed to Hermione, as long as it came out as projectile (.45 of course). Not that she knew it of course, that revelation would come the next day, after this days revelations and mental shock was dealt with. And exploring options was always a good idea.

In any case, she absently put it away in an inter dimensional pocket space with no idea that she'd done anything.

The main course of the days shocks was the fact that her new friend was looking like a stereotypical demon, with fangs, claws wings, tail and of course otherwise flawless _human_ features. Oh yes, Tiggy was now the perfect visual analogue of a naked and anatomically correct Hermione faced succubus. Whatever had been done to her, was permanent and beautiful. That she was as tall as the real Hermione was something else to think on.

It looked like she was not going anywhere any time soon. So she sat down in a lotus position and tried to make sense of everything with classic breath control exercises. It was the proper thing to do really.

In another part of the castle, the dark and gloomy dungeons, Draco Malfoy was plotting, the demise of his nemesis, the Japanese kid. Not that he was very successful at it of course. Contrary to popular belief, the Malfoys were not trained in dark arts, torture and murder from infancy. Raising kids with an _absolute_ lack of morality or ethics lead to patricide, matricide and fratricide.

Malfoy indoctrination was based on emphasizing the lesser status and worth of non purebloods. Dehumanizing them, making them animals. Getting rid of said animal came much much later. Politics were much more important. Getting that higher position in Slytherin, making contacts with dark and neutral families, developing an "image". Seeing that eleven year olds tend to screw even these things up, training them in the art of getting rid of the above mentioned 'animals' would end up in catastrophe.

As a result of all of this, Draco was useless. He had a lot of goals but no means to achieve them. His all ambitious goal of killing someone was doomed to failure mostly because he didn't have it in him, to borrow the phrase. And Draco unfortunately had enough logic to admit it himself. However pride demanded that he do _something_ against this alien who was doing Merlin knew what in the castle.

For a surprisingly ill planned 'get him' operation, Draco had collected a lot of information. He knew, for example, that Tetsuya frequently visited the forbidden forest, that he had some dealings with Snape, that whatever he was doing was not something even his father knew the full extent of, if the great man knew at all. Sadly, the vaunted information hoarding of Slytherin was useless against the career assassin that he wanted to hurt. How do you trap an expert escape artist? How do you hit somebody who can move faster than a wand can be turned? How do you overcome the sheer skill of somebody who can bat an Avada Kedavra away with a mere sword? Ninja were impossibly annoying creatures, which explained why his father employed them. More thinking was required.

In the forbidden forest, a troll was being led towards a castle in magical chains, walking ever slowly for its next command. This particular specimen was a partially trained security troll, imported from the mainland for just the purpose. It was a distraction, a mere side story in the exploits of Lord Voldemort, currently soul parasite. His attempt to steal the philosophers stone would materialize on Halloween, the day he was cast out from mortal shell, but also the day he would return to it. This was but one step in his plans and he had more in the wings in case this latest attempt did not prove fruitful. In the castle, the form of Quirinus Quirrel occasionally checked a small trinket in his office, emulating his passengers wretched enemy, counting down the distance for the big ungainly bipedal magical tank to reach within "sneak in" distance of Hogwarts. "Soon..." was a frequently mumbled phrase in the otherwise quiet office.

The week before Halloween saw a marked rise in tensions throughout the castle. It wasn't visible, or easily detected, but it was there. Dumbledore, worried about Moody's warning, was in a less positive mood than before. He even failed to offer his lemon drops to the visitors of his office. This was not unremarked upon by the professors and soon practically everyone knew that the eccentric headmaster was in some crisis. The occasional sight of Dumbledore staring blankly as he contemplated Merlin knew what only served to exaggerate the already wild rumors flying about. Whispers of illegitimate children, ex-lovers, financial problems (to use the 'mild' term), failing health, blackmailing, etc were rampant.

Wild and humorous rumors did nothing to curb the sense of impending doom. Magically speaking, the highly strung students were emitting stress, frustration, and other negative emotions with each spell they cast, binding the wards with this new influx of chaotic emotions, which in turn led to the very building feeling like a heavy blanket of negativity. This atmosphere reduced the more positive students to misery as well. Magic, being the emotion and will dependent force of nature it was had successfully set up a self sustaining loop of despair.

It should be noted though, that the headmaster wasn't the actual cause of the sudden emotional fog in the castle. For years and years, the Dark Lord had been in the habit of timing his important raids or "statements" to the greater world on October 31. consequently an entire generation of ordinary people had learned to grow up in fear of the day that He-who must-not-be-named would strike at their homes and families, doing worse than simply kill them cleanly with an Avada Kedavra. Even ten years after the fact, even the children of those loyal to the cause were in dread of that day when the Dark Lord attended to his victims personally.

This was nothing to say of the unusual magical occurrences that happened occasionally. This day was a very important ritual day, partly because of some long winded magical theory that basically said that there was more magic present in well, everything. Most magical creature sightings by muggles occurred on this day than any other. Made obliviators positively groan, even in peacetime.

It was also the ten year anniversary of the day that Harry Potter had ended the reign of terror of the one they refused to name. All this meant that the current generation of magically born children sitting in Hogwarts had been subconsciously trained to both fear and venerate that date, October 31st, all hallows eve. The muggleborn picked up and emulated the behavior of the others.

Among the people to be immune to this were Dumbledore (who had a lot more to worry about than the antics of a childish dark wizard), Harry (who was used to being at the receiving end of massed amounts of negativity), Hermione (whose current being was immune to mental attacks) and Snape (who was in the midst of his latest mid-life crisis, this time with an _actual_ Potter to blame it on). The adults had been alive when Voldemort was actually alive, so they were quite capable of operating normally. But the children were another story.

Of course, after a time, the wards themselves would plunge the castle clean of such emotions, but these rarely used wards would take a while to register a problem and then, actually go about setting up the magical equivalent of emptying emotions.

In the midst of all this, Hermione wandered the halls in a manner that was at the extreme end of carefree. Her new powers meant that she was extremely unbound by rules of any kind, but her mind still retained enough of her old self to be totally random. Thus her current existence was in a way more normal than either the old Hermione or the average example of her race. She was still in the midst of her minor plans of revenge and the like, but discovering herself was far more of a priority for now. As a result, Ron Weasley was subject only to shrinking underwear and itching whenever he tried to open his mouth at her. Others heard a constant buzzing or found themselves waking up in a bed of slugs.

The first year Gryffindors were plagued by these annoying pranks and the only two spared were quickly cleared of charges. Both had alibis and were deemed to not have sufficient knowledge to pull it off. As Snape said, how could a bumbling know it all like Granger or a clumsy nincompoop like Longbottom ever achieve the summed up nuisance value previously demonstrated by the first year Marauders?

A magically supercharged house elf that now resembled a chibi succubus was not even close to the ones actually accused of course. Hermione was officially in love with the idea of minions. That the Weasley twins were blamed was just another laugh out of the whole event.

Hermione however was concerned that there were mysterious people roaming about the hallways, on the ceilings no less!

They seemed to not even be real people, just shells of air, that moved with intelligence. She did not know where they came from, or what they actually looked like, but they did disappear into nothingness after a while. Hermione, tended to dismiss them after the first day of seeing them. They seemed to be like those flying skeletal horses that only she and Tiggy could see. Nobody else paid attention to them and nothing happened. It was all so...boring. And then, like the wind that lifts the all concealing fog, Halloween was upon them all.

The morning was quite normal. Everyone woke up, and did the stuff they usually did. Compared to the tension that was present all week, it was almost a relief when nothing happened. No news of You-know-who resurrecting from the dead. No Death Eater attacks in remembrance of the the last war. No invasion from near mythical eastern states... well, the last one was more Dumbledore's worry.

Of course, the usual plotting, planning and maneuvering occurred.

Classes were normal. There was so much relief at the lack of unusual happenings that the teachers forgot to give out homework (except Snape, but that was to be expected). And the students forgot to rejoice at their supposed good fortune.

By afternoon, there was a visible relaxation in all the students.

Ron Weasley tried to goad Hermione into doing anything except smile creepily at him. It was all for naught and the poor sap was nearly reduced to a pool of his own excrement when he saw those eyes turn to look straight through him. He didn't know what happened, but clearly the poor girl had snapped. Ever since the previous week, she had kept up this disturbing little grin on her face. It promised pain misery ad death, all just for him. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what he'd done to her.

By dinner time, the whole school had collectively decided that no weirdness was going to occur and that this was one Halloween destined to be uneventful. However, it was just as the food was about to reach the mouths of the hungry that the unimaginable happened. Professor Quirrel, the professor of defense against vampires(his class curriculum was slow and narrowly focused), came running in and shouted out that a troll was loose in the dungeon. And in a rather theatrical (for those who paid attention that is) manner, he fainted, lying spread eagled on the floor.

Dumbledore noted that Quirrel wasn't unconscious, but still, running all the way from the dungeons must have been a very tiring thing. The resident ninja already knew something was funny about the man and chose to simply ignore him.

Hermione on the other hand now found herself intrigued by the weird sensations the turban wearer was inducing. The sight of a dark wispy aura rising from the back of his head was quite the sight. Maybe she ought to see about this troll that was in the castle...

Harry was already on his way. A clone had reported (read popped) the troll clearly a long away from its last reported position, the second floor was not next to the dungeons after all. So he had the idea to investigate the beast and see exactly what was going to happen. A switch with a clone and instant freedom.

In the meantime, Dumbledore announced that the students were to return to the dorms. Which should have raised alarm bells when at least _somebody_ realized that the Slytherin dorms _were_ in the dungeons. So it was in true ode to Murphy fashion that the house of the cunning and frighteningly intelligent walked obediently towards the same spot where the troll was last spotted. Later, it was convenient to blame it all on the fact that it was Halloween. There was an actual possibility that this was the case after all.

The troll was meandering through hallways in a right grumpy manner. It wasn't full trained and consequently was not aware that _real_ security trolls were silent and vigilant pillars, ever ready to defend their charge, usually a gate or door of a fashion. So this one was convinced that it was supposed to patrol the corridors and smash whatever intruders it could find. If one consider that the definition of intruders meant "Not Quirrel", one can definitely find logic in its subsequent actions.

The first 'something' the troll found was in a bathroom. It went in to see if there was anybody to brain with its club and found itself facing the resident ghost, a certain Moaning Myrtle. Finding an intruder to smash and not capable of distinguishing between the living and dead, the beast raised its club and began to slaughter the innocent stalls and toilets that the ghost kept trying to hide in. Both were quite hysterical, one in irrational fright (she was a ghost for Merlin's sake) and the other in rage (whack a mole without getting a single mole is quite frustrating) and there seemed to be no end to the hideousness in sight. A house elf that came to repair damage quickly left before it could get caught by the club or flying debris, unnoticed by all.

This was the sight that Harry and a platoon of clones were watching, albeit reluctantly. They really wanted to go down and cut the thing to pieces. The decision was taken out of their hands when a girl walked in rather calmly, looking at the incredibly disgusting wreckage. Magical or not, it was a _toilet_ after all...

Hermione was quite intrigued when she saw the sight of a real live troll demolishing toilets in a haphazard and inefficient manner. She paused at the doorway long enough to catch sight of a bunch of the upside down invisible people looking at the carnage and twitching. What was interesting was that one of them was actually real for once. She couldn't see through the mask, but she was sure that this was an unusual person. In any case, she would have plenty of time to check up on her target later.

She walked a few steps forward and checked out the troll once more. The creature, which was mildly rational at the best of times was now emitting blood lust in visible waves. There was no hope of restraining the beast in any amount of time with what magic she knew. So she took out her Colt (from somewhere she didn't pay attention to) and pointed it straight at the troll. Something had told her to take it and she did. She didn't notice that she had literally pulled the weapon from thin air or that her stance was perfect for a shot at this low range.

Harry however did. He also noticed that she was literally glowing, if a bit erratically. It was when her hair slowly started floating up that she made her move. A single squeeze and a fraction of a second later, the trolls head was crimson vapor.

Hermione was quite surprised when she noted that her observer had not even twitched at the sight of magical attack resistant magical creature being taken down in one shot by what was ostensibly a muggle weapon. She was even more surprised when she noticed that she had barely felt the recoil, or that she was quite unconcerned about the first kill she had made. There was no shock, or even a pause. She felt like life and death were merely meaningless words now.

She was internally startled when a rough whispering voice broke her thoughts.

"Is that a gun? A revolver?"

She smiled at the masked fellow who was looking at her as if she was a new species of purple panda. How interesting!

She nodded at the boy, pleased to see that this was one person who had no problems with vaporized creature craniums.

"Of course it is! I- Oh dear..."

She stopped, cocked her head and began to calmly walk away.

Almost the moment after she paused in her speech, Harry got a clone memory that told him to expect company and also began to leave. He knew he had seen that girl somewhere before but couldn't place it. What he did know that he would have remembered if her chakra was this...off.

A minute later, a few professors wandered into a rarely used girls bathroom to find the most disturbing sight they had ever seen. Moaning Myrtle, having registered that her bathroom was unoccupied, had finally come out and was trying to "eat" the rapidly cooling body of a full grown but headless mountain troll. The sight of a (silvery and translucent) student, in a Hogwarts uniform, trying to suck the blood of a dead troll for the purpose of curiosity is a little nauseating. If anybody remembered that for a ghost, this was par for the course, they did not speak up.

"What in Merlin's name happened here!"

McGonogall was almost shouting. This did startle the dead girl and send her wailing off into the walls. The damage looked like it came more from a rampaging giant than a less dangerous troll. The room was practically ruined. Sure, magic and house elves could fix almost anything, but this kind of large scale destruction would be a bit of an annoyance. God knew what Filch was going to say about all this.

Dumbledore was the first to awake from his stupor.

"If there is nothing else, please return to the dorms and check on the children. We must inform them the danger has passed and that there is no need for panic."

The voice was calm, assured and melted their agitation like a snow man in a noon desert. It was also a sign that the defeater of dark lord was back in control, as opposed to 'I'm soooooo close to drowning myself in firewhiskey' and he would take care of this mess, somehow.

As the assortment of professors, namely the heads of house and Quirrel left, Snape remained behind as Dumbledore had subtly gestured him to. The two walked around the body until they were looking at the remains of a trolls head. The blood was everywhere, coloring the water that was 3 inches thick on the floor to a pale yellow.

"What do you think Severus? I cannot recognize the spell that has been used. Indeed, I cannot tell that a spell has been used at all. This is quite disturbing."

Snape took a moment to center himself and think. Quirrel actually had an alibi for _this_ incident. Trying to steal a priceless magical artifact is an exceedingly solid proof of absence for _this_ crime. And he himself was the one to get mauled for it. Blasted three headed mutts...

His other suspicion was not one that _anybody_ would even blink at. Harry Potter had power, and cauldrons of it. The sheer impending feeling of doom that single eleven year old put out was such that he did not dare use legilimency on him. Of course, the reason he had not used it for the entire time period of it was for a whole platter of reasons. On one hand, he refused to believe that the boy was anything but the spoiled prince he always claimed the boy to be, and refused to check, even if just for himself if that accusation could be false.

At the same time, the boy was so different from the James Potter clone he so dearly wished to put down that he didn't even think about legilimency. Without the Gryffindor red to focus his dark side, he was inevitably drawn to the fact that he had _her_ eyes, or that he was a Ravenclaw, just like _she_ was at heart. The quiet thoughtful manner, and the occasional insane looking grin was actually closer to his Lily than any other memory he could scrounge up. And then, when the two were alone, he was thoroughly cured of any delusion that the Potter boy was anything like his parents. There was no hated James, no Beloved Lily. There was only the monster of raw terrifying power. And the worst part was Potter did not know he had slipped, as if he had so much that a slip was not noticeable. It was more frightening than any tome of necromancy he had come within touching distance of.

But he couldn't blame Potter either. He had personally seen the boy being led off by his prefect, looking bored at the general chaos. Oh how he longed to be in some remote corner of the world somewhere, away from all this cardiac arrest inducing madness...

"I cannot say for sure. There are of course several spells that can produce this kind of damage. But none of them would be this effective without affecting the rest of the creature as well. The weaker curses, used on humans cannot be this effective on a troll either. The lack of a magical signature is troubling. Only the dark arts are this efficient, and for someone to have created such a spell that cannot be detected is worrisome."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.

"Indeed. To take down a troll, with possibly one hit... is... worrisome. (sigh) I will arrange for this room to be cleaned up and repaired. Take care Severus, and be on guard."

Snape noticed that the headmaster looked even more weary. Mumbles of firewhiskey did not calm him at all. Was the dark lord truly returned?

Neither of them noticed a perfect little hole that had been drilled into the far wall at about 12 feet high. An elf would later fill in the hole magically without worrying about it. The rest of the room was far more important and damaged anyway. This led to the bullet that had killed the troll being fully incorporated into the castle wards, serving as both dimensional anchor and location beacon. Hermione was totally clueless about this, just like all the other madness that had occurred after touching that gun.

Dumbledore of course didn't have any thoughts about troublesome Riddles. He was far more worried that this was the handiwork of some eastern operative, a message that announced that they knew he knew about them and that they were quite capable of taking care of any opposition on his end, permanently. At this rate he would have to inform the ministry after all. Let them actually deal with something for once. And if it all crashed down, he would be better off with the ministry to be blamed. Assuming he was still alive that is.

He was guessing of course. With no idea on what the other side was doing or their aims, he was totally helpless. And to think he was finally able to calm himself after Moody dropped that bombshell on him too.

In Gryffindor tower, tensions were high. Halloween was still a very ominous day and had a lot of symbolism associated with it. With a troll on the loose, it was near impossible to keep the gossip and rumors in the within reason category.

The first years were a scared lot. Unlike the older students, who had more experience in all the weirdness and chaos of Hogwarts, the younger students had nothing to fall back on and were in the midst of imagining what painful demises as troll bait as their sheltered minds could. Ron Weasley however was not as scared of the troll as he was of the girl he had only the barest idea of hurting.

Hermione had been very quiet as she was led to the tower with the others. Once there however, she began to slowly grin in a mirthful fashion every time somebody whispered the harvests of fertile and terrified imaginations. Ron Weasley, who had heard the whispers of some of the more exotic deaths that were being thought off was beginning to inch away when the idea of a troll ripping somebody apart with their bare hands only served to further amuse the girl.

Tiggy was having fun. Well, that wasn't what the name she wanted, and would change it soon enough, but that was what she was used to. The poor downtrodden elf she was before was a mere nightmare compared to the feelings that this new form gave her. Sure she looked like a tiny demon most of the time, but that wasn't really much considering that she could apparently shape shift and become incorporeal. Playing her mistress was great, though not as much as it would have been if she didn't have the "make the gryffies sweat" order she was following. This violence loving individual she was making her mistress out to be ( her instinct was telling her she was not too far off) was extremely scary, as far as Ron Weasley and friends were concerned, so much so that he refused to let his eyes stray near her. Let the weasel be scared. He had worse coming for how he treated her mistress.

Hermione let out another giggle, with a sparkle in her eye. Ron and his dorm mates, having caught her expression of malicious glee, wondered if they had done anything to offend her lately. There was also much surreptitious planning along the lines of making nice with the wild eyed girl.

As this was going on, (not)Tiggy sensed the mistress coming closer. It was time to switch.

But Hermione continued to walk, away from the tower. Right, the place was locked down and crowded. The next switch would have to be done later, maybe tomorrow. How inconvenient. She noticed the twitching that was happening in "her" year mates. "Well, at least there's more time to play" And that was that. Really, with all the chaos she was creating, nothing else mattered.

With the end of the troll crisis, the next morning proved to be exceedingly normal. Everyone was much chipper, the general atmosphere of doom and gloom was washed away and even the head table seemed to be unusually calm compared to the "I'm feeling blue" vibe the teachers were putting out.

In the midst of all the normality, Hermione Granger slowly wandered about invisibly, one of the talents she had managed to discover last night, sometime after she realized that she wasn't feeling sleepy and consequently didn't need it as much as she did. Whatever that gun was, she wasn't the least bit unhappy about herself. She could feel, in the back of her mind, new instincts that told her that she was more powerful than the lowly mortals she persisted in staying around. Though, something about chaos seemed to calm the voice. Maybe it was part of the package deal the revolver came with.

At any rate, she was wandering the Great Hall searching for that elusive aura that came with the masked fellow who was followed by shells of air and will. Such an interesting fellow too. At least, one that didn't taunt or tease or (considering the skull vaporizing) run away screaming at her sight.

Sure, her new found love of violence and target practice was quite unusual but she couldn't help but feel so darned happy! At this point, she wasn't really bothered about if she would end up in hell like some superstitions suggested (the thought was egged on by Tiggy's baseline appearance) but she had her moment of pure bliss to savor, even if she had an eternity of torment awaiting her. Finding somebody put up even a facade of politeness towards her new self was quite the ego boost. So she searched by looking each and every table and person, making sure her senses were thorough as she scanned each and every person there was. Gryffindor was quickly eliminated as none of the people here were the one she wanted and everyone from that house was there at the moment. Besides, any Gryffindor who had seen her actions yesterday would have been either telling the world about her, shivering somewhere in a fetal position,or running away from her, screaming. Well, the "her" that was actually Tiggy anyway.

Tiggy had been different since that day. She didn't look like an elf, didn't talk like an elf and could do a whole bunch of things not done by an elf. Hermione wasn't actually sure what either of them were anyway. However, Tiggy was subservient to her wishes. The word 'thrall' was the closest she could find really. She was now independent and mischievous, especially if those furtive glances those of her year in Gryffindor were shooting the transformed elf were any indication. Still, she spoke better English, took initiative and was always helpful. Having a companion who was happy with her was quite pleasing.

When she came to the middle of Ravenclaw though, she noticed that one of the students was not emitting an aura. A shake of her head reverted her sight from "only auras" to "everything that's there normally" and found a shell, just like the ones she had seen before. When the individual turned to one side to listen in on an adjacent conversation though, Hermione was shocked. The person who was sitting there to avoid being there personally was...Harry Potter!

Well a likeness in a shell anyway. But it was clear that the real him was the one who made him. With enough concentration, she could see the strands of aura that created the shell. It was definitely the one from yesterday, of that she was sure.

And, in a moment of pause, the shell turned at her, gave a curious look, searching for something that wasn't there and continued as if nothing had happened.

Hermione quietly left the hall. She had much to think about. Potter was different. _How_ she could not exactly say. But it was there, a tangible feeling, especially after examining the shell. It was like life energy, but something heavier, more...solid. Something more than mere magic. And he had whatever it was in spades. At least she knew she could find him anytime now. The energy acted like a beacon but also left traces. It was literally all around her, little traces of it that were being absorbed and emitted by the castle wards. And there he was, standing next to an arch, invisible to all others as far as she could tell. He was using the energy as a net or perhaps a blanket to refract light around him, hugging the walls and staying motionless to minimize discrepancies. She herself seemed to be phasing out of the visible spectrum. Which was why he couldn't see her but the other way was possible.

Hermione paused. How did she know that? She shrugged it off though. Too much odd stuff happened, too fast for her to properly be shocked at all of the strangeness. So she just wrote it off as her new body's something or the other acting up. Just like magic, her own life was now easier to deal with if she ignored such pesky and nervous breakdown inducing things such as logic and reason. She had no idea what her parents would think of all this, or whether she would tell them at all.

"Hi Dad. School was nice. I made lots of friends. Oh, and I don't think I'm human anymore!"

She could see _that_ conversation going well. And how was she going to explain Tiggy anyway?

Such uneasy thoughts were quickly shoved away when Potter turned and looked in her direction. Like his shell, he had felt her but wasn't able to make his mind on what he had sensed. She was like a scientist observing a new phenomenon. From what she theorized, his power was linked to life energy, which meant that he should be able to sense her if she had life. Which meant he wouldn't be able to sense her if she was truly out of phase as her mind whispered. Unless she was and he was sensing an absence where there should be some or unless whatever he sensed was unique to him or somethingof that nature or...

Hermione shoved the whole train of thought as she sidled next to him and dropped her invisibility. The invisible boy automatically spun around ad plunged a blade through her arm and into the wall. It was thankful that nobody was there for that moment, for the sight of a knife plunging through the arm of a girl, only to reform into its old shape with minimum effort was quite disturbing. Even more disturbed perhaps were the participants of this little accident, one of whom was masked and invisible, staring at the girl through wide disbelieving eyes, quite visible through the animal(?) mask while looking absolutely befuddled.

The other was shocked at her lack of response to the whole event, merely twitching an eyebrow while she was surprised at the lack of pain, anger or indeed any reaction at all. The only thing she felt was the smoothness of the blade, a pain free sharpness of the edge, and the force and speed required to do what this boy did.

Hermione looked quite unruffled and flexed her fingers and joints in the arm, quite curiously.

"Would you mind not doing that again?"

The voice was sufficient to break the boy who gaped from his reverie. She was surprised to notice the speed at which Potter recovered into an air of nonchalance, having stowed away the odd looking knife at record time. It was at this time she noticed that Potter was still in that odd, slightly monochromatic tinge that told her he was out of the visible spectrum.

"Follow me, we'll talk in a more private setting."

Potter nodded and complied, following her at a sedate pace. 'He snapped out of that pretty fast. Maybe odd things happen to him too! Hmmm, We have class don't we? Looks like Tiggy would have to be creative today.'

The two ventured to a room in the seventh floor, where they proceeded to sit at a distance, staring at each other, refusing to make the first move. Finally Hermione let out a breath and spoke.

"Honestly Potter, we're alone here and I can see you anyway. Drop the invisibility and the mask please. Hiding your face isn't very polite you know."

He nodded and removed the mask, revealing that adorable little face that looked like he had too much on his shoulders.

"So are you really *the* Harry Potter? You're different from all the others you know. Wielding life energy...I didn't think such a thing possible. More life energy than magic? And only eleven yourself. What are you supposed to be anyway? Oh, where are my manners... My name is Hermione Jane Granger. Or was. Not sure about that actually..."

When she started mumbling by the end, Harry shook his head. This was all too much information to take in. first the girl turns out to not be human, then doesn't even blink when a kunai nearly slices her arm off, and regenerates like a shadow demon or tentacle monster or living gloop of some kind. Then she drags him off to this room in a remote part of the castle and promptly begins interrogating him with an ease that would be more at home at a tea party. It was official. He was now in the twilight zone.

And the sad part was he knew he was outmatched by this girl, who didn't show any discomfort at being nearly dis-armed and presumably couldn't be killed via physical means. And jutsu were an option only after as a last resort and he had nothing left to loose. Playing trump cards at the drop of a hat was not his ninja way.

As it was, he was getting quite an inkling of why a Bijuu scared people shitless. The feeling of being powerless against another being, a power gap that no training could overcome. It was only sheer force of will that kept him from bolting and possibly dieing in a way that would have been in short pointless.

"Yes, I am the real Harry Potter. I've come from unusual circumstances. What I wield is similar to but not exactly life energy. Yes I know I'm eleven, by all accounts so are you. May I ask what I am here for?"

Hermione merely grinned.

"Now now, Harry, If I can call you that-"

A hint of a nod.

"Well yes, its like this. Very recently I was transformed from my human self into something unique as you have seen... Now, I find my new self rather bored and lonely. And then all of a sudden, I find that *you* are another such unique person who is different from the rest, wolves among sheep..."

Harry was not sure, but he really didn't like the way this conversation was going. Transformed? From Humanity? Lonely? Unique? Statement conveying that they were different from everybody else and implying implicitly that they should stick together? Klaxons were screeching in his ears. So he interrupted her speech.

"I'm not giving up _my_ humanity." he growled.

Hermione was even more amused. What a funny little boy. Jumping to conclusions like that.

"Nothing like that my dear. I just want somebody to talk to and somebody to go on adventures with...maybe some mutual training? Hmmm...there's a thought"

"No offense lady, but I really don't trust you and you're not showing many signs of sanity either. I have a personal rule against associating with possibly hostile S class entities."

Hermione blinked and filed away the last bit to examine for later. Maybe it had to do with the life energy he wielded, maybe not.

"Please! Pretty please? I can be useful! I know, next time you go kill something, let me watch!"

Harry was getting so freaked out that he was subtly pinching himself between the gaps in armor. And antagonizing somebody who behaved like a 5 year old in a sugar rush was quite unwise. So he simply nodded his head and prayed he would not end up getting sacrificed to some satanic cult or otherwise. He already had a battalion of clones he knew were totally useless sticking around (on walls, ceiling around aiming sharp implements in her direction. She didn't even blink. He was just thankful she hadn't brought out the "gun". Dodging bullets had not been an exercise he had practice in.

Hermione grinned. Somebody to help relieve her unusual boredom. Oh joyous day! Sure, books were nice, but this body required something more amusing to slake its thirsts (for chaos actually, but she didn't know that). It was extremely convenient to ignore the fact that her definition of amusing had changed to something truly terrifying.

Maniacal laughter was bouncing of the walls and scaring the self taught shinobi half to death. In another part of the castle, Tetsuya caught a shiver in his spine, as if some great and powerful evil was around him. He was sure of it. In Japan, a certain blind lady echoed similar sentiments.

A/N:

A new chapter! Hope you liked it.

A bit of randomness into what I presume to be a structured story. I'm a bit unbalanced these days myself. If you spot errors, please pm me. Your assistance is apreciated.

If I ever get around to totally revising this chappy, you'll be the first to know.

Joe is a one time appearance here. Came, saw, did his thing, vanished. No particular gender. Unless somebody can tell me how to insert meddlesome god like beings into mortal planes when bored/amused...ideas anyone?

An explanation for why Draco is such an impotent opponent, canon or otherwise. Wasn't born with an AK at the tip of his tongue, just a plain kid until daddy teaches him how the world goes round. Patricide at eight is just not the way to raise a kid.

As for Hermione's rapid deterioration to madness, I will point out she wasn't exactly a happy camper coming into Hogwarts. She had plenty of baggage from her old school and was resting all her hope into this great new place that is already filled with weirdness, a new kid without her previous rep. However, her behavior pretty much brings her to her previous school situation quickly and hits her hard. We're not talking about somebody who has seen the world and knows how to cope, but a little girl whose every worldly experience outside of her parents are of isolation and being degraded practically all the time. Again, I remind you that kids can be exceedingly cruel without knowing it, and their victims take it far harder than adults or teenagers. I can personally attest to that. Perhaps I've made her a bit darker, but that's just how I really see her as going.

In canon, she's pretty lucky to be not dead from the troll. Frankly I'm surprised that she didn't end up at a padded cell, what with emotional turmoil (Ron's insensitivity earlier) topped by a near death experience that is dripping with inadequacy issues all the way through. The subsequent imprinting upon her two rescuers I don't find surprising though. Much of her later nagging that the boys find troublesome are due to her desire to help them in the way she feels she can do best. My opinion anyway.

As of now, she's a little nuts, and having odd personality shifts at times, mostly centered around amusement. She's also a bit of both adult and child, a being of chaos. She instinctively understands that she doesn't have to worry about mortal problems and is bored as hell in her new form. So she decides to relive her boredom in any way possible. She won't get a direct role often, but will keep things interesting for her own sake, and hopefully for yours as well.

The revolver was a sort of trap, an automatic device. It found a suitable human/living thing and drew it into a "dream" to facilitate the later mental stuff 'A' was going to do by telling her it was her idea and that she wanted it. Basically clumsy brainwashing that would hold until t was made permanent. Its not a question of doing something against her will, but more of changing her desires and wishes until she was sufficiently motivated to go along with it, subconsciously at the very least. And then proceeded to rip her existence apart into the new being that 'A' is one of.

Harry's not really insane, he's just caught up in the novelty of being the insane guy the other fellow is scared to touch with a twelve foot pole. Maybe he understands why ninja in Naruto show so many *ahem* quirks. And in this chapter, he's found out exactly why people despise such unstable opponents. Hehe.

A more general note...written before starting this chapter mostly. Unnecessary but I do request you glance through it.

disclaimer: applying the following rigidly to real life can make you an ultra paranoid idiot with serious trust issues. On the other hand, you'll now be able to finally write that extremely in character Moody centric fic you always wanted to.

This story is one in which I try not to have _any_ absolute in universe fact. Every "fact" in this story will be open to at least some form of interpretation. This is accomplished by presenting every part of the story from different perspectives, even if the owner of that perspective may be hidden or absent. Even in the background bits, perspective is everything. This not only gives a sense of reality (due to all the possible angles) to the story, but you can extrapolate the story yourself in different ways as your imagination lets you.

The way I have gone about this story is based on the idea that everybody has a different perspective. Every person is in itself a story, with character, personality, train of thoughts, aims, methods, reactions etc. and in the soup of their meeting, we have life. I've deviated from this in this chapter specifically because Hermione's circumstances are somewhat bizarre for an otherwise "normal" HP altverse. Unless of course, you consider Joe related bits as coming from "his" perspective.

China seems to be a major factor for a lot of readers. Some people love it, and some hate it. Everybody has their two words on it.

Lets consider what I have said about this here. Magical China in this story is some shadowy uber state with an immortal emperor and legions of advanced magic users. Also, they have seemed to be leaping ahead _and_ are stable where the west has been decadent.

All of this can be inferred from first glance. On the other hand, you can infer different things from the sections from where the above "fact" was distilled. You could have a evil type empire ruled by an absolute tyrant. Or you could have the happy utopia coveted by all.

The power aspect may be iffy if one considers that China has not been in war with the west or anybody else who contribute perspectives to this fic. Japan yes, but not apparently, China. This could imply that Chinese strength is an illusion hidden behind the feats of a very gifted few, or that all of it is real and China is actually all badass. After all, the weapon that is never used is by definition, undefeated.

Even the immortality part is iffy. The immortality of the emperor, is described in ch9 as

"...a pesky little Chinese ritual that also kept the immortal emperor, immortal, though, his was linked to his willingness to serve and better his people and lands... "

It could be one huge ruse, perpetuated by clones or even lookalikes like Palpatine after the SW movies. It could be real immortality, with the described condition, taken literally. It could be that the same "condition" for immortality is subject to the emperors whims and modified on a dime. So it depends on _your_ point of view.

Also, this itself is second hand info for Hayate, which he may or may not have in universe proof of. It might be true, it might not. It might be common knowledge, it might not. It might be propaganda on Chinese magics...it might not.

Again, the history explored is different in the perspectives. Lucius has a certain view of ninja before he meets them, from hearsay, that may or may not be reinforced by the trivia about ninja and America that we know Dumbledore "knows" but have no idea if Lucius does. Also, China has a same yet different version from the ninja and the Dumbledore perspectives. While the ninja "know" more about the present and also more of the interior workings of the nation, Dumbledore's perspective represents their external image, that of mystery and invincibility.

In another case, take Hogwarts itself. Its sentience and its limits are something a lot of fanfics have explored. Here, both points of view are there, again as part of different perspectives.

The sorting hat categorically states in ch8 that

"...The castle, which really is somewhat intelligent by the way..."

On the other hand, during Riddles mental rant (ch9), he 'says'

"...It was not sentient(well, after a point. It was still a thousand year old magical castle. It did have instincts, even if they were more along the lines of climate control and inexplicable chaos)..."

This is the truth as far as he knows, his perspective.

The sorting hats statement is also similar to Hayate's thought in that it might be true or not. It might be a known or unknown lie. Stuff like that. It gets really difficult to keep track of after a certain level.

(btw, am surprised that no one mentioned the particular seeming contradiction in the two sentience related statements.)

This also makes it difficult for me as even though I don't have to keep everything universally 'straight'. I have to make sure that every point of view remains consistent in their perspectives.

In another case, Voldie and Harry both have rooted hatred of Dumbledore, that is commonly seen in their use of disparaging nicknames. The teachers themselves seem to have a slight annoyance in his eccentricities. And the whole population even in cannon seems to hold him as "off". This has caused some people to accuse me of Dumbledore bashing...

But Dumbledore is not necessarily senile or stupid. While, different perspectives will hold his character in a certain light, the 'truth' is not necessarily the same. So its really a case of two people feeling better about their lots by childishly mentally bashing someone they really can't touch, irrespective of delusions. Also, if you really sit down and think about all these characters, you find justifications or lack thereof in their actions and thoughts that in turn change _your_ perspective about the whole mess.

This is all derived from the story as of now. In later chapters, you may see new points views to add to whatever exists so far that will either prove or debunk the perspectives either described here or developed by you. Its all one big cauldron in flux. And while an obsessed reader will try to consider all these possibilities, even the casual reader should have their own perspectives on the story and its progress that develops with each chapter. This is why REVIEWS are so important to me, because frankly they tell me, as the writer, what people are thinking and also their perspectives. (yes this is a not so subtle hint if you've reached till here)

These principles are also applicable for every story that rolls out of any authors mind, but I thought I'd give you a glimpse behind the scenes of _this_ story.

Author is in medical emergency. Please donate your precious REVIEWS to the author through the link at the bottom so that he may gain back his health and quickly move on to the next chapter...future donations are also welcome. Its a persistent condition...

REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW !


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto. I'm sure. As for the future...

And now that that's over, back to your irregularly scheduled fanfic:

In Kyoto, an old woman tossed and turned in her sleep. Dreams that had never been concieved of before plagued her ancient mind like a swarm of locusts over a field of grain. The fact of the matter was, her visions were rarely this haunting. Most visions were symbolic and sometimes hard to understand. A line of ants eating carrying away spilled rice might mean anything from an attacking army prepared to rape, slaughter and pillage a city to a new infestation of ants in the imperial kitchens, and magical ants were quite the pesky pests. The ones that were in essence portraits of creatures or landscapes were worse. They were impossible to interpret and were mostly clear, if at all, after the event. That was why Chiyo was rarely consulted about the future in beyond the vaguest of terms. Rarer still were her prophecies, often in convenient haiku form, that were sometimes clearer than a thousand pictures, and often more clouded than thunderstorm.

As a result of these extreme shifts in the nature of her "sight", Chiyo was most valuable as the unknown advisor, somebody who knew the generalities of the present and the future but was not mired in the trivialities, of the power plays and politics that were quite natural in any and all organizations. Her retainers both took care of her and kept her abreast of the latest news and gossips. Shee listened and did not speak, letting the trivialities of the day wash over her and letting her sight retain what was important. It was perhaps a rather effective system, as an absolutely neutral viewpoint was always there, either for the empress herself, or the chief of her guard, Hayate. The fact that any biases in her advice came from her gift, simply made her all the more useful. She was a tool, in essence and a willing one. And perhaps more to the point, a willing one.

Today though, Chiyo was in a truly sour mood. With her dreams had come visions among which were such disturbing sights such as that of of a hand crushing the earth, a pair of gambling die, an enormous demonic looking fox with nine tails that was too terrifying to even imagine and an abyss. And for some reason, a girl and a boy were there, gaijin, staring at _her_ blankly from beyond a window in an otherwise distorted wall. But what came after that was what had her truly shaking with fear. A grinning maw that took a bite out of the planet. Not perhaps as scarring as the demon fox, but far more troublesome.

Some of which she had no idea about, others were, from past experience and the writings of seers from ages past, crystal clear. At least she had something to tie some of it to reality.

XXX

Hayate was surprised when he received a summons from the oracle. Usually, it was the other way round and not exactly very often. To be summoned means that there was an urgent matter, something the old lady couldn't simply hint at during their next "casual" conversation.

When he arrived, he was not surprised to find the _extremely_ secure room just the way it was when he last came. What was a surprise was the disturbed looking face of the lady who had cheerfully told a past emperor that gaijin would come to this land and that there was nothing the old man could do was possibly going to change that fact in the least. With the data he had just been presented with, he could only come up with one conclusion. The world was ending...

XXX

Harry was particularly paranoid these days. Having some sort of _thing_ in the guise of a student after him was not what he had planned for. And considering that he had actually noted down an "In case of Bijuu" plan (namely, run like hell), that was saying something.

He had no data on this (new) person or species. He had once spotted _her_ in the castle, taking potshots at the forbidden forest from a seventh floor balcony. And hitting things. It was a very scary sight. The idea that she had a range that was possibly greater than he could _see_ was terrifying. The sheer killing potential in that barely human shell was incredible.

On the other hand, most of the time, Hermione Granger(if that was her real name) was almost a child. Sure, she acted like a hyper version of her old self, but when she was with him, she was like a child, always doing something annoying. The reason he found the baby label appropriate was that at times she simply stood still and looked at something only she could see, before continuing as if she had not just done that. Breaking mid stride and continuing without the slightest gap in actions was a very disturbing sight. Giggling and drooling in an eleven year old, even more so.

Two weeks had passed since Halloween.

Two weeks of hell.

Two weeks of wondering if the shinigami had decided to torture his soul for some karmic reason that he was not privy to. Or maybe reforming his abusive family was the sort of things the gods frowwned upon?

In truth, she was not that dangerous to him or even all that threatening. The "girl" acted with all the enthusiasm of a 5 year old, sometimes. She didn't point that revolver at him. She didn't bring up that incident where he tried to reflexively kill her.

No, she behaved without the barest hint of malice towards him. It was THE most nerve racking experience ever. Hatred he could deal with. As also dismissal, rage and malice. They were emotions that had occupied the fortress of Harry's developing mind in its formative stages. Little Whinging had all but given him a PhD in the field of negative human behavior towards the individual. As such, being treated like a rattle – getting "poked" just to see what happened next, was not something he knew a safe way to respond to. Especially when the person "poking" him was as far as he knew, impervious to physical damage' As such, he even had clones secretly experimenting with high level sealing, trying to seal a living being into objects. Not that he was getting anywhere, but there was slight progress, in terms of "this seal produced actual bone fragments on unsealing, compared to the total goop I got till now!". In essence, he was trying to derive the theory of relativity from "the world is round!". He envied the Yondaime Hokage, who had been a protege to an actual seal master and consequently had somebody to turn to for help.

Hermione, as far as he could tell, sought nothing but amusement. Some minor joy in making things happen in odd ways. Her amused state, signaled by the sparkle in her eyes(at times literally. Though, looking for when the white of her eyes were liberally dotted by black specks was not the most normal of cues to look for) meant that she had achieved that state of inertness wherein it was safe to let out your held breath and go about normally. If he was lucky, she wouldn't catch up with him for another hour.

Even when he decided to pay a visit to the forbidden forest, the girl had been delighted. She had shot a good 30 of the 50 or so dead acromantula that had been on the lookout for human meat. What he did see was that however childish she seemed, the girl was a crack shot, spitting death at inhuman speeds. He also noted she did not reload, _ever_. At least she didn't seem to stick around for when he began to collect the venom. That the sporadic gunshots that occurred while he worked would probably get the centaurs in a tizzy was his only real concern.

He had also discovered the true "demon" of Hogwarts. The clone of the gunslinger girl was very very demonic looking. She looked like a succubus, all accessories included. The leather was just plain overkill. Especially since once the introductions ("Tiggy, Harry. Harry, Tiggy") were over, he was faced with two identical versions of Hermione. He had left with a headache. He did pray that they found something else to play with though. TWO stalkers were more than his poor abused sanity could handle. Though, after one particular "prank", he did wonder if Tiggy was anatomically correct down to ahem _every_ last detail...

XXX

"Lady Chiyo, it is agreeable to see you."

"Likewise young lord. How fare thee in this new campaign?"

"Very well my lady. Tetsuya is reported to be well and truly settled in. He made contact with Skywalker, and lost."

"Toriyama's protege?"

"Indeed. A fine shinobi for his age."

"Indeed. And our person of interest?"

"Our English friend is strong."

He paused.

"And apparently very much random."

Hayate sipped his tea thoughtfully. Chiyo was unusually wary of actually discussing whatever she had summoned him for. She was asking about the past and the present. And not a peep about the future. He mentally braced himself. Before he could say anything though, Chiyo continued.

"My visions are not clear yet. There is a sense of foreboding in the air. A demon has risen, one which may seek the doom of all. The future is not sure, but battle is inevitable. Should this demon be awakened, there will be none left to write our tales. What has risen is possibly a scourge of all life itself."

Hayate calmly sipped his tea. It simply would not do to run around like headless chickens every time Chiyo announced the coming of the apocalypse. Obviously measures would have to be taken. It looked like another reason for starting an operation in England had just appeared. At least, with a stable base of operations, it wouldn't be a total nightmare. He would just try for more info for now.

"What else did you see my lady?"

Chiyo's shrunken face took on a visage of raw terror. It was frankly disturbing.

"A blood red fox, with nine tails. It cleaved mountains and raised tsunamis with mere flicks of its tails. An unkillable beast, whose evil drowns out any and all human malice. An being of such evil that man was not meant to gaze upon that terrible visage..."

She shook her head and continued.

"I also saw two children. A black haired boy with a grimace, a brown haired girl with childish innocence. I cannot say what bearing these two will have, but I believe they are crucial to the demons plans, whatever they are. The boy in particular, I saw him swallowed by the beast in a flash of lightning. He is a nexus. Hitsuzen surrounds the boy like so much rain in a storm."

"What about the demon? What are our options?"

"There is no help for it. A full containment team will be necessary. I recommend that you pick those who are...unattached."

Apocalypse indeed. The idea that they would need an entire cell of high level specialized containment sorcerers was unthinkable. And then to say that it was a suicide mission was somewhere beyond unthinkable. Exactly what was this demon?

"If you are wondering why all this is necessary, I would suggest you look up the berserker incident of 1218, in the greater forbidden archives of Edo. It should prove most enlightening"

"I will."

There was not much to be said to that. He only had a vague idea of what that particular event involved but it did not sound good.

XXX

The end of November however seemed to bring new dimension to the personality of Hermione Granger. She became, for want of a better term, _saner_.

It wasn't that obvious for the most part. Most of the people who saw her daily had been ignoring her from nearly day one and consequently didn't even realize that she had been acting weirdly for a while now. And Harry, who actually had an inkling of the insanity behind the beast(?) was quite surprised when he realized that Hermione was actually rational for his every encounter with her on that day. He didn't know if this was here to stay and did not speak of it one way or another. He did pray to to Kami sama a lot. Just the fact that Hermione Granger did not wave that colt around was the biggest relief he could have imagined.

XXX

Hermione Granger was in fact, becoming (drum roll please!) sane.

Well, saner at the very least. Her long suppressed "self" was finally coming to the fore after having spent quite the while hibernating.

A scientist would have been fascinated by what was happening. In essence, she was undergoing a process of mental metamorphosis. The original "human mind" she had was quite restrictive. It had human thoughts, human emotions, human reflexes, human reactions. But most of all, it had human limitations. In other words, putting her directly in charge of the body of the formidable being (or abomination, depending on your perspective) of a chaos creature was the equivalent of putting Homer Simpson in charge of every nuclear weapon in the United States strategic defense arsenal. In other words, it would have been one "D'oh!" away from disaster.

So, a proto mind was formed, one that had the memories of Hermione Granger, had the (former) body of Hermione Granger, and in general tasked with being Hermione Granger until the real Hermione Granger woke up.

Unfortunately, the designers were just a bit disconnected from humanity. So, the proto mind unfortunately reflected their inexperience in human thinking. It was quite reflective of the randomness its creators were always in the midst of and followed no sense of order outside of its actual classroom times.

Of course, the proto mind was also the same one that was responsible for what was the equivalent of sleep hypnotizing Hermione into a functioning member of "society" whichever one her new species belonged to anyway. So, while not all that sane from the human perspective, she would still retain her human personality. Hermione would at least be recognizable to whoever knew her well enough before the whole mess at Hogwarts, namely her parents. Somewhat. But hey, school changes people right? Especially thousand year old _magical_ schools?

Hermione was not totally unaware of the happenings of the world around her either. While "asleep", she was cognizant of what "she" was doing. Even until just after the Halloween incident, the barest trace of rational control was exerted on the proto mind. After that, well, pure insanity was closer to the rationale behind "her" actions. Thankfully, she was sufficiently removed from the human perspective that being aware while a possibly insane personality used your body for previously unthinkable actions was not enough to render her insane. At that very moment, Harry would have been quite relieved to know that Hermione had taken the decision to be less flamboyant in her dealings with him. He would also have been petrified to hear that the proto mind was even now merging with what used to be Tiggy the house elf. Telepathic links are somewhat useful like that.

Of course, with her real mind having come forth, she had regressed to her "human" state somewhat and lost some of the conscious ability to use her powers. Only time could now bring out the hidden talents of Hermione Jane Granger.

In any case, two days after Hermione was back in business so to speak, she asked Harry to meet her in one of their previously used abandoned classrooms.

"Hi Harry"

Harry raised an all too obvious eyebrow. The distinct expression of disbelief that had not been on his true face for quite a many year was also quite embarrassing for the witch that had turned into...something.

"What did you call me here for?"

Hermione shuffled a bit before replying. His tone was somewhere between hostile and sarcastic as far as she could tell.

"I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. I must tell you that I'm not usually this way. Its just that...I've not exactly been _myself_ for the past couple of weeks."

Harry calmed down a bit, from his fight or flight mode.

"And I suppose you are _yourself_ now?"

There was a hint of sarcasm and a visible air quote, but Hermione ignored it and nodded her head vigorously.

"Oh yes. I had a little "incident" and I was unable to cope with it. I'm all right now."

Harry nodded. It made some weird twisted sort of sense that probably said more about him than her. He also refrained from asking what the incident she mentioned was. Personality aside, she was still moving exactly like her "other" self. The threat level had not diminished. He would have to tread carefully. Best be neutral for the moment.

"I see. Is there anything else?"

Hermione seemed to become a bit more enthused now that Harry was not running away screaming in terror or demanding compensation for mental trauma. Although, she supposed that with the esoteric abilities he had shown to her (inadvertently or otherwise) he wasn't exactly the most normal character either. She resisted the urge to cackle.

"Well, the thing is, I've not been the most social of people and I've probably done something till now to earn your undying hatred, but I'm wondering if you wouldn't mind becoming my friend? I was quite lonely before this anyway and now..."

Harry turned it over in his head before concluding that at the very least she was the only person who knew who or what he really was. Besides, he had done his research on the original Granger and discovered that she was quite intelligent, if quite bookish. The advantage of having such a person as a friend were quite obvious. The advantage of having the person in front of him as 'not an enemy' was even more obvious.

The fact that Harry was slowly getting used to the girl and could appreciate company, no matter how irritating was irrelevant. Although why the shadow clone above him was snickering on the job would have to wait till he dispersed the idiot...himself.

"All right. I can agree to that. Although, I do ask that you keep that pistol of yours pointed _away_ from me at all times. Its quite...distracting."

Hermione giggled.

XXX

Things became less strained as far as Harry was concerned after that. There was a sense of relief, and even the pranks that Tiggy had taken up were coming down. It seemed that sanity made the world seem brighter.

Classes were the same as ever. The teachers didn't really change much, except for Snape, who was a bit more skittish when Harry was in his class. But since, he was such a master of occlumency, the only people who would have noticed were his fellow staff members, who were not in said class to notice the aberration. Quirrel was getting even more twitchy and stuttered worse than ever before, but that was put down as the DADA curse rearing its ugly head and he was generally merely pitied. Betting pools that wagered on his possible method of "departure" was the one of the few places his name was mentioned.

In the meantime, Harry was trying to find a way of making a sword that he could put all the weight of his training behind. To that end he was concentrating on improving his baseline strength to levels even real ninja would have been envious of. He might not have been Gai or Lee, but he knew enough to get the best out of his still developing muscles. He accomplished this by training every spare minute he could, using a mix a chakra exercises and pure exercise. Since he was not yet finished with puberty, he was actually quite wary of overdoing it, but he was satisfied with his current level of progress.

In the meantime, he spent a lot of time in the midst of training chatting with his currently sane friend. He didn't tell his full story, but he told a lot. Having spent his first few years in less than ideal conditions, being a social outcast at the behest of his own family, finding his power in a strange and unexpected way. The turnaround of his family's behavior by his hand. No mention was made of mentor librarian, possibly non existent Japanese comics and star wars themed shenanigans.

He did discuss weapons with his new companion who seemed surprisingly knowledgeable about such things. Then again, she still had her rather scary pistol and kept up her practice at shooting things at insane distances. Harry imagined that this was the closest he would get to a real life Miterashi Anko.

Whatever her mentality, she was quite knowledgeable about weapons and their use, a knowledge that she confessed was not present before the "incident". Whatever it was, Harry was grateful. Hermione, while not trusted at the highest possible levels, was sufficiently trustworthy that he gave her a slightly worn katana and sparred with her. He had even let her hold onto it afterwards. He had his own sword, if it came to it. And he was willing to offer up his spare in the name of friendship. At any rate, they were not the best quality stuff anyway. He briefly wondered if that fellow Takeda's shop had any good blades on sale. It would be nice to have some good quality stuff the next time he had to face Tetsuya or anybody else for that matter.

In the meanwhile, Hermione was actually quite skilled with a blade, and was able to get his level up to a more decent level. He would not be limited to expending massive amounts of chakra to keep up with whatever opponent he might end up facing.

XXX

In the unplottable bastion of the dark arts known as Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy was rudely awakened from his sleep at the stroke of midnight by a most distinguished visitor.

Takeda walked into the same room he was previously received in, with his normal gait, one that was screaming predator. Lucius was quite confused as to why there was a need to meet at this date at this particularly bothersome hour. Not that he was going to say anything. One of the perils of working with people without morals was that such behavior was entirely applicable to yourself as well. Showing disrespect towards an ally more powerful than you was always a sure ticket to death.

At any rate even he was curious as to this abrupt visit. Obviously something big was in the works, to bring this man from wherever he had been stationed to meet him. And it was obvious that whatever it was required his assistance. In other words, it had to do with either the ministry or Hogwarts, the two places where he had the most influence. It was unlikely that it was Hogwarts. The ninja organization had operatives in the area, and it was unlikely such skilled soldiers would find anything in that decrepit castle beyond their ability to handle. So it was obviously something to do with the ministry. It looked like Fudge was going to get a few more visits.

Takeda sipped his tea with the air of a man who was utterly relaxed. Not that he was believed by the rooms other sole occupant, who was in slightly less than pristine condition, due to the unexpected visit.

"So what can I do for you Lord Takeda?"

"It appears the situation in this country has become quite severe. Hakumei is intervening to prevent the total annihilation of this section of the planet."

That was most unexpectedly blunt. No pleasantries, subtle double speak or information exchanges. Just a statement that, from the tone of it, seemed to be a polite understatement. Just what had happened here since these foreigners moved in? Takeda meanwhile continued in his extremely relaxed voice.

"A Double S class malicious entity 'World Eater' has been detected on this island. The last time anybody encountered such a being was 800 years ago, 150 square miles of Chinese country side was rendered desolate in an explosion that lasted but an instant. Every last piece of organic matter was reduced to dust. The very land was rendered lifeless. And our only record of its occurrence was the fact that that part of the world still used scribes writing on clay tablets. We will not share the exact circumstances but apparently death magic was the only effective tool to defeat the beast. Our experts believe the one we have just detected is of a far greater destructive potential."

Lucius was floored. His brain had shut down and even though he showed almost nothing, his eyes were quite wide open and shocked. Takeda however pressed on.

"A team of sorcerers will be sent to try and contain the beast. We are telling you all of this because you have been a very useful ally and deserve to be told that your home and family are in danger. If necessary, you may choose to evacuate before our men engage the demon."

The next five minute were slowly spent letting the conversation settle into his stressed mind. There was just too much to take in right now. The ninja, despite their rather unique world views and operating protocols were religiously honest with their clients and non ninja allies. In any case, he knew he was valuable, at least for now. There was no reason to lie about anything. In other words, Takeda was being brutally honest.

"Lord Takeda...I'm afraid I am a bit shaken at the moment. Please give me some time to process what you have told me. I...I am afraid I find myself quite unable to think rationally at the moment."

Takeda stood and lowered his head. Death Eater or not, the man loved his family. It was best to leave him be to plan their survival.

"Indeed Lucius Malfoy. I shall await your communication regarding this matter."

And he was gone.

XXX

It was breakfast. The great hall was full, as always. The chattering was barely tolerable, but Harry would endure it. Today was an important day after all. And important days meant keeping your patience.

As he waited for that which had him on edge, he quietly paid attention to the only two people he had any interest in within the Hogwarts student body, Tetsuya and Hermione.

Tetsuya was still mostly a mystery. Harry did not dare approach too close to the base of his enemies, lest they detect and discover him. The Japanese boy himself was fair game. But it was a very interesting question, why was he there? Why was this inexperienced operative of a well supplied and professional organization here in Britain or even Hogwarts at all? He himself had no clue, and did not have the experience to deduce that information even with more data. True, he could make assumptions and extrapolate, but he was walking with a Naruto mindset, which he highly doubted would apply to magic in any but the broadest sense. True, it was highly effective against these British oafs, but these Japanese fellows were in a different league. He was on the verge of asking Hermione for her _unique_ insight.

Hermione was a mystery. There was just no classifying her anymore. She was order and chaos, fun and killjoy, exuberant and utterly shy all at once. She seemed to be in her own little world and utterly vegetable like at times. Other times, she was focused and serious, even if he himself had no idea what she was so focused on. After her date with sanity, she had mellowed out from the utterly insane/psychotic persona into this somewhat normal behavior that seemed to cycle through maturity levels at random.

On the other hand, she was quite helpful and seemed to genuinely wish him well, something he was quite unused to until his mentor had introduced him to that concept. Even now, the idea that some sort of pseudo invincible magical creature was the only thing in the castle he had some level of true trust for was...it was indescribable. Of course, considering that she had stated that she was actually human before she laid her hands on a possibly cursed demonic (why that word specifically he had no idea) handgun, there was possibility that it was her mystery that kept him around her. Whatever the case, he would stick around her, at least for the time being. It still rankled that she seemed to have accidentally stumbled upon abilities that were rather impressive just like that.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by the arrival of an owl. It was a package he had ordered, and it was something he had considered previously, but had not devoted much time to.

As a progressing shinobi, Harry had many fields that he could develop his talents in. Ninjutsu, Genjutsu and Taijutsu were the cardinal 3 of any shinobi. Beyond that however, existed many skills that supplemented or went parallel to front line combat. T&I, torture and interrogation, the realm of the almighty Ibiki. Intelligence and Espionage, Jiraiya's more important hobby. Forensics and investigation, which the Uchiha military police must have a good amount of skill in, seeing as it overlaps with hunter nin. Field medicine and surgery, Tsunade's claim to fame. And then of course, the front line combat skills like puppetry, sealing, poisons, weapon skills, trap creation. They were all excellent skills for a ninja to have.

Harry however had at this point decided to branch off towards sword skills. It was a sore point for him that he needed to show his superior speed to block the Japanese ninja's wakizashi. To be forced to resort to compensate for lack of skill was something he could not tolerate. So he had decided to purchase an encyclopedia of swords...or the closest object to such a thing that existed. It was simply a collection of handwritten notes, that described swords, their strengths, weaknesses, styles and requirements. Alongside was an actual collection of pictures and specifications of real world swords, thousands of them. After all, Japan wasn't the only country to forge a blade long or sharp enough. The fact that such things as Zabuza's Kubikiri Hocho existed was sufficient cause for him to look beyond the measly katana. And while he was not Tenten, determined to wield everything, he was going to find his own niche and fill it, something that would make him stand out if he was actually in the elemental nations.

XXX

"Granger! Where are you dragging me?"

Hermione Granger, currently dragging a somewhat reluctant and perturbed Harry did not deign to reply to the somewhat deserved question in the face of completing her current objective. As such, she was currently on the seventh floor, having started from the first, dragging a reluctant Harry by the wrist all the way. Those who saw the quirky pair concluded that seeing her friend get an enormous book had set her off. They were only partially correct.

Minutes, that were an eternity to some later, Harry was inside a stock abandoned classroom, wondering why he had to come up all the way here for this. It was true, he had mentioned getting this earlier as he was drafting his letter to his "contact". He had simply wished that he could have an opportunity to test for himself the blades that he was going to contemplate.

Hermione had produced the widest grin at that. Unfortunately, this had set off all sorts of alarm bells and Harry had taken off before she could inflict her insanity upon him. As it was still the time when Hermione was frankly nuts, Harry had run for his life, at chakra and adrenaline enhanced speeds.

So Harry could overall connect that incident with receiving the Codex Gladius, as he called it. But why this room in particular was questionable. He was patient however. He trusted Hermione for the moment, and was wary more of the individual in front of him being a human looking Tiggy than anything else. That would be frightening.

And then, Hermione held her hand out and materialized a nodachi into it. Just like that. And before he could do so much as breathe, the classroom was empty of tables and chairs or anything else and she was in the air, swinging that monster of a blade in what was clearly an attempt to cleave him in two.

Harry danced around her incredible swing for a while, trying to find a way to retaliate when she stopped, still grinning and the blade vanished.

"What do you think Harry! Isn't it great?"

Harry shook his head.

"I have no idea what you are talking about! And whats with the lethal swings? You could bloody hell have killed me you damned woman!"

Hermione waved him off with a 'who are you kidding?' expression.

"You would have, and did dodge. Besides, it was an excellent way to demonstrate the powers of this awesome room!"

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Awesome...room?"

Hermione did a little pirouette and giggled.

"This room, my dear friend..."

At this point, she put her hands to her hips and looked off into the heavens in a rather dramatic pose,

"...is the Room of Requirement!"

And a beautiful sunset and beach scene appeared behind her, complete with sound effects, waves and a seagull.

Harry's jaw dropped. And then he fainted. Curiously enough (at least in Hermione's point of view) he was muttering about genjutsu and ...springtime of youth?

XXX

Shortly afterwards...

Harry Potter was in heaven. This room really was awesome. Hermione, at this stage had moved on to what Harry had wanted. So to fully help his choice, she had commanded the room into a hall the size of the great hall and was chock full of weapons.

Well, swords actually. All sorts of blades, from bronze age era weapons to more modern blades that were still used on a real battlefield by people who stayed alive.

That was of course, one of the particulars about swords.

Harry wanted a blade for war. Most swords today were made for peace and were wall hangers.

Ever since the firearm was invented, there was a steady decline in bladed weaponry. With the advent of repeated fire and easier reloads, the sword fell out of favor as an indispensable battlefield weapon, just like every other bladed weapon around. Nowadays, the only blades you found in the standard military was ceremonial. Not very useful except for eye candy.

In any case, seeing as he was aiming for swords,spears, halberds and the like were out. They didn't have the least bit of the versatility of the sword. Harry had tried them, purely for academic reasons and was quite disgruntled with the wrongness of it all. He also resolved to read up on how to use them more effectively should it be necessary. They were too unwieldy for his purposes though. And a spear does not an assassin make.

At the opposite end of the spectrum, knives daggers and spiked weapons were too limited for 'general' use. Small knives made for a good addition to his close range arsenal. Not a true knife fighting weapon, but excellent for deception and misdirection, assassination material at its best as far as he was concerned. And small blades, of good quality were extremely resilient.

Between the two were where the majority of laded weapons lay. Really exotic weapons(including a whole set of rather fantasy style blades) were also discarded.

Katars, chakrams and the like did not appeal to him. The extremely rare whip sword, the Urmi was an even worse suggestion for him. Merely getting it off the floor without cutting himself to strips would be a nightmare. How Hermione did it instinctively was beyond him. Not that she was a master, and she did get plenty 'scrapes' where an edge that got too close took a bit of 'skin' off.

A lot of blades were simply too large and lost their effectiveness if scaled down. In this category lay the cleaver style swords, that depended on sheer mass to bring down its target. They were large unwieldy and would have given the seven swordsman wet dreams. Though there did seem to be an example that was the kubikiri hocho brought to life. Unfortunately, it was unlikely he would be able to use the steer intimidation factor associated with such a blade any time soon. Or wield a blade of that size effectively at the speeds he was used to and wanted to exceed.

Extremely long swords, like the nodachi or the really long two handed swords like the Zweihänder were also given the ax. As were the many varieties of axes by the way...

By this point, the walls were now removed from everything except a range of swords in the two to four feet range.

"Curved blades or straight ones?"

Hermione asked, sitting on a luxurious chair while Harry kept looking over everything,

"What do you think?"

"Well, curved ones slash better and straight ones stab better!"

Sarcasm was truly lost to her. Harry's eyebrows twitched but he didn't bother to respond. He took hold of a curved blade that he might have recognized better if he hadn't spent his youth genjutsu-ing everyone and actually spent his hard won freedom watching television.

"What do you call this?"

He did trust that Hermione would help him with this. She was quite happy to find her entertainment in helping him. She said life was more interesting that way.

"That's a cutlass. Pretty famous from pirate movies, usually used by the brawny and hairy..."

Harry vanished that blade instantly. He also dismissed a number of curved blades that he disliked for sheer similarity. He was not a pirate! Consequently, quite a few sorts of broad slashing type blades disappeared. Ancient looking vicious swords and swords that clearly belonged to a fantasy setting all disappeared.

He examined a saber rather curiously, giving it a few practice swings and stabs and then tilted his head in confusion. It was not that he didn't like it it. But it was still too curved. He liked Japanese blades, with their more natural(to him at least) shallow curves. And he didn't see himself stabbing anyone anytime soon with a saber anytime soon anyway. Sabers were hit and run cavalry swords as far as he knew. And despite his best efforts, he did not see himself using them at all. So vanished more swords.

By now, what were left were mainly straight or nearly straight swords. He dismissed the curved Japanese blades after a seconds thought as well. There was no need for them - he had done enough study on them ages ago. What he wanted was a blade that would complement his use of wind chakra.

All the blades by now were more or less straight. Everything from the gladius issued to roman infantry, to the eastern straight swords and the infinite seeming varieties of rapiers. Really, he was spoiled for choice. There were more swords than he or even the book knew existed...even if the variations were mostly aesthetic.

It was at this point he realized why his subconscious had been sending him towards straight blades. He was a wind nature ninjutsu expert. Any sword he wielded could automatically be converted to cutting blades. Hell, he could get a lightsaber like cutting effect from a twig of wood if he wanted! Too bad he couldn't make a real lightsaber with all the fancy magic around here...

_(A/N: This is the point where somebody with real talent makes an omake, another crossover and inspires an entire range of spin offs. Since its just me, we'll just go back to your irregularly scheduled fanfic)_

Finally, after what seemed like hours of contemplation on the theory of cutting and stabbing, Harry finally agreed upon a pair of single edged aikuchi style chokuto. He spent a little time to really familiarize himself with swinging the twenty six inch blades with some care. He was still due a growth spurt or two. Sure, he was already tall, but he was still eleven. Confident that this choice would serve him well into the future, he began to stride towards the exit. He eyed his alternate choice of shikomizue a bit hesitantly but continued all the same.

Of course, something just _had_ to go wrong...

"Er... Harry?"

"Yes, Granger?" came the impatient reply.

"You do know that nothing created inside the room can be taken outside right?"

XXX

With current progress on swords essentially grounded, Harry went back to practicing genjutsu by ensnaring random students with "hallucinations". Harry was trying to establish a threshold for when people actually began to experience a discomfort that what they were seeing was not real. So far some teachers the odd student and Hagrid had proved totally resistant to genjutsu. Hagrid and Flitwick didn't know that there was any genjutsu while Snape often made faces and shook his head. Perhaps these people had mental defenses of a sort or even a magical bloodline of sorts. Magical illusions were not unknown and one of its greater examples was the ceiling of the Great Hall. Of course, these seemed to be area effect only. They seemed to exist in a sort of ghost type configuration where an individual could not be targeted. Those might exist but were unlikely. More things to wonder about...

XXX

"Severus! Its good to see you!"

The Hogs Head was a rather unsavory place for his tastes, but it was an excellent place to discuss your business clandestinely. As it was, Lucius was quite resolved to warn his friend about the new perils of staying in the country.

The relationship between Malfoy and Snape extended all the way back to Hogwarts. Being Slytherin, both were rather professional to each other for the most part and the only real point of contention had been Snape's half blood status.

However, prevalent pureblood dogma at the time considered half bloods as a redeemable resource so as long as Snape toed the party line, he was granted tolerance and eventually grudging respect for his potions skills. The fact that the son of Prince had a public fallout with his mudblood (never friend. Just mudblood) meant that he had cemented his place in the pureblood faction. Lucius had played the mentor role and eventually befriended the young man proper, in true pureblood fashion of course.

Lucius was perhaps the only one of the Death Eaters to have known with some surety that Snape had eventually gone over completely to Dumbledore towards the end of the war. Nothing concrete or presentable as evidence of course, but he was sufficiently suspicious as to make that intuitive leap to the correct conclusion. He was the guys best friend in all but name.

Of course, in deference to their well established friendship, he said and did nothing. And the fact that Lucius continued his friendship was a sign that to the dark lord's supporters that he was one of them. In a way, the pureblood lord's complete trust was given only a half blood.

So it was that in deference to that friendship that he had decided to inform his only true friend that there was danger afoot. A danger that Takeda had supplied the pertinent details of.

They could have chosen other places, but meeting in the castle was plain stupid and Dumbledore would have never allowed the potions master to go to Malfoy manor in the middle of the year. Not to mention, he was tracked at all times by one of the headmaster's little trinkets.

"Lucius! I am surprised that you wanted to see me in person. Is something the matter?"

Malfoy let out a light chuckle.

"You know how it is my friend. The minister is far too demanding of my time. Even Narcissa complains that I am too busy these days. And I have to deal with the St. Mungo's tomorrow too. I too grow weary of all this."

Snape raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Narcissa Malfoy was the epitome of the pureblood wife. She wouldn't raise an eyebrow if her husband disappeared without a word for a decade and then returned. A slow almost hesitant nod answered his unspoken question. Something was wrong. Very wrong. It was an old death eater deception for conversations in public areas. Purebloods had far too many customs for anyone to take note of such an abnormality and anyone actually saying such a thing would be taken to have just let loose a little over a drink or so. Of course, no pureblood worth his salt would admit to a demanding wife either. Ever.

The second part was even more curious. St. Mungo's, a reference to healing. In other words, the situation was life or death.

"I see. So what do you want from me?"

"I want you to consider this proposal for another job. Its in the colonies. American potions research organization. It would be a personal favor to me. I might visit there with my family soon."

Severus accepted the offered envelop silently, before opening it. The job offer was genuine. So Lucius wanted him to go overseas for a while. And might even send his wife and kids out of the country as well. Did this have something to do with those ninja the man had hired? And what was the life or death part?

"Lucius does this have anything to do with those new consultants you hired?"

"They scouted the company. But the offer was something I picked up on my own and I personally would like to see you doing what you were born to do as well."

So the Japanese had given him some information and he was being told solely because the two were such good friends. The last sentence was a plea. Whatever it had had the blond man scared. He was afraid for his family, himself and his friend. He couldn't fathom why though. And then he recalled the other troll incident. Eastern wizards were here, that was what he gathered from Dumbledore's vague clues and cryptic statements. Something to do with them perhaps, but affecting the country as a whole. An invasion perhaps?

"If I accept this, I may not have to teach those dunderheads any longer, but there are a few who are...adequate."

_I have my obligations here. Is it so serious that I must abandon them?_

Lucius took a second to carefully compose his words.

"Nonsense."

_Yes._

"Your talents are wasting away in this miserable dungeon of yours."

_Staying may get you killed._

"You simply must accept this, for my sake."

_There is no other way._

"It is a rare opportunity and the pay is good."

_There may not be a next time._

Snape sighed, an action that not many have seen from the fanatically self controlled man.

"I will think upon this"

Lucius nodded.

"Do not take too long. I will need your answer soon."

They parted ways.

XXX

In the dragon boat _Spirit Shadow_ that floated now above the ministry of magic, new people were arriving.

Seven people, including two women were arriving today. All were highly trained sorcerers with over a decades experience. They were some of the best that Hakumei could offer in their chosen fields. Six of them were barrier experts. The seventh, a woman was an onmyouji. They were not front line magic users. They were the auxiliary support forces.

They were all coming here for one purpose. To eliminate the demon they were ordered to by any means necessary, up to and including sacrificing themselves.

At midnight, a 12 foot tall Torii (Japanese shrine gate) shaped portal appeared out of thin air on the deck and seven people walked out. The captain of the vessel exchanged pleasantries with the new arrivals and then they went below decks. For now, they had a new mission.

In a deck below, at the rear of the ship, a crew man began to fiddle with levers and gauges. At the same time, in a huge room covered in arcane symbols and odd looking devices began to hum and glow as the arcane energies that were required for it began to flow from what might have been called the ships engine room.

A minute later, a group of people moved in and began to operate the rather complicated magical apparatus.

The ship itself rose up to a higher altitude and began to begin to sail in a lazy spiral pattern, still invisible to any and all British monitoring capability.

The hunt for the SS class 'World Eater' type demonic entity had commenced. Nobody was about to let an entire country vanish. Especially not if the brave and dutiful soldiers of Hakumei had anything to do with it.

XXX

Christmas was upon them all. It was a grand time, and with holidays coming right around the corner, it was a generally upbeat mood that surrounded Hogwarts.

Of course, most of the very important peoples in the castle had important things to worry about.

Dumbledore was worried about overpowered foreign powers. Alastor had not given anything new, so he was stressed simply due to the fact that he did not know what was going on. Without control over the situation, he was quite worried.

Snape had forgotten about Potter entirely in view of his friends distress. He was also wondering what he should tell Dumbledore about all of this. If whatever unmentionable danger lurked around was of a priority that necessitated Lucius to nearly beg him to leave for a while or possibly permanently might be of interest to Dumbledore. On the other hand if it was something that specifically targeted just a select number of people, whether it was former light supporters out for their long overdue revenge, or dark wizards bent on cleansing their legacy of his betrayal (and Lucius as well, by virtue of faithful association) was debatable. This year was significant for a number of reasons, including the reappearance of Potter and the emergence of a concrete fixed location for a priceless alchemical artifact. The tenth anniversary of the end of a war that was slowly being forgotten was also a possible reason for the current timing. He trusted Lucius completely, ideological leanings aside. Worrying Dumbledore with something that was most likely a private threat was likely to just bring in the headmasters ire, considering that the old man had done nothing but brood and ponder ever since Halloween, relatively speaking of course.

Tetsuya was wondering why he had been informed to watch out for allied sorcerers. It was a vague and worrying message. Not to mention that there was no real reason why such a force would be required for any aid in his mission. And the idea that something required the presence of a full sorcerer or more in this country was disturbing at the very least. He would have to get more information out of Takeda.

Harry was wondering where he could get a new sword. It would be annoying to get a fake or poorly constructed one and finding a smith capable of the battle worthy blades he would require as a base for fuinjutsu modification would be difficult. Things like welded pieces, display only pieces or even worse, imitations would be extremely annoying. He would have to see if he could find a real old style sword smith, no mean feat in this day and age. Then again, price was no issue. His current blades, were steel, factory made and unfortunately all he could find at short notice when he brought them. This time, he could be devoted to his quest without magical preparations to occupy him. At least his current arsenal had taught him the intricacies of holding together and reinforcing a sword as much as possible. He would miss the beaten down (especially after that stint with Tetsuya) kodachi, a little.

Most of the professors were wondering how to motivate their students in the face of most unstoppable leisure.

Quirrel/Voldemort was hatching and discarding various strategies to get a certain stone without having to discard the host body entirely. He had to find a way past that annoying Cerberus without actually doing much. Unicorn blood was being consumed in minor quantities to strengthen the body. And it was still failing bit by bit. At its current rate of progress, Quirrel wouldn't be able to survive to the end of the year. And using magic only hastened its deterioration. Thus Voldemort was reduced to biding his time to find a perfect opportunity, one where it would no longer be necessary to withhold his use of magic, so that he could finally take possession of the stone and its fruits. But until that final time when he could be without restrain, he had to pace himself, especially to find a way past the Cerberus using more subtle methods than what he wished he could use. And he was not stupid enough to ask anyone point blank how he could get past an overgrown three headed dog.

Draco Malfoy had gotten a letter that basically said that he was to take ALL of his stuff from the school grounds. He was quite perplexed and missed the unusually perturbed expression on a certain Hufflepuffs face. Not that it would have mattered.

XXX

The train ride towards London went like all the one that came from London. With one exception.

Hermione was in Harry's compartment, sitting idly.

It was quite relaxing to have somebody to talk to even if they were there only because he had no conceivable way to kill said person. Not that he wanted to of course, but having a visible vulnerability would be nice.

"What will you do these holidays?"

Harry calmly replied.

"Find somebody to make my choice in blades. Research stuff. Read a lot of books. Hang out in Diagon. Spend time with family."

Hermione nodded

"Alright. Here's my phone number in case you ever get bored or need help! I already have yours of course!"

Harry really did not want to know how she had gotten that piece of information. Although if the nearly invisible form of Tiggy were any clue...

He shrugged visibly and then looked out the window. They were quite far from London and were nearly asleep. So out came more clones and he muttered an inaudible"goodnight" before embracing sleep.

As he closed his eyes though, he thought he saw a ship in the distance. But that couldn't be, could it? Magic didn't have flying ships as far as he knew. Besides, he could always check later.

XXX

In a room on a flying ship, floating in the air, in a room with lots of stations manned by ninja, a technician stood up and saluted the officer in charge of the room and made his report on his latest finding.

"Commander, We have just passed over a residual energy signature consistent with a demon above B class. We are however unable to derive a location or heading"

"Hmm. Continue monitoring."

Inside the well lit room, the tall, well dressed commander pondered the message and acknowledged the report. He then left the room to walk a deck higher where the captain of the ship and their latest guests were in the middle of a discussion. Sure, there was instant communication, but then this wasn't battle, so showing a little respect was important. He was of a race far above the savages his ship even now floated above.

He knocked and and entered the room, facing its occupants with a respect born of experience and knowledge of just who these people were..

"Captain, we have a single confirmation of energy signature consistent with target. What are your orders?"

The captain, wearing a rather elegant robes and missing right eye answered.

"Continue on our current course. We will likely discover many more of these signatures before the beast is before us. It is unnecessary to linger where it wants us to..."

"Yes Captain!"

And that was that.

The Spirit Shadow continued its slow patrol, searching and prying, seeking the location of, unknown to them, a very unique girl.

A/N:

I"m finally finished with this chapter, although I'm pretty sure this one is somewhat off, just can't put my finger on it. On the other hand, itrs giving me new ideas for other stories I want to write but have less time for than this one.

Basically, this chapter is going to establish the reason why Hermione has been turned into an overpowered Mary Sue...of sorts. Its just a reason why Hakumei moves more resources to Britain and causes even more headaches all over.

Despite everything, Hermione can be taken down, and there do exist people with the means to do it. Whatever said and done, she has only had a few months of getting used to her powers and so is a bit limited. At the moment , Tiggy is of more use, combat wise.

Another thing, some of you may wonder why I've devoted a great deal of space to Harry picking a sword. This is because of many things really. I'm a fan of swords and frankly know that a great deal of what everyone "knows" is misleading. Japanese blades for instance are not made to be clashed edge to edge repeatedly as anime and movies would let you believe. The whole point of these blades is to cut through flesh and bone, not other swords. The type of combat that Harry and Tetsuya engage in would have reduced normal swords to scrap. The only reason they can do it here is because one of them has a magic sword and the other uses chakra to reinforce his weapons. Both were probably be surprised that the other blade didn't break. I'm sure you can guess what their devious little minds are imagining about the other.

Quality sword making also does not involve folding the steel thousands upon thousands of times as some have described. Its mostly high carbon steel anyways. These days, useable swords made with tool or spring steels are supposed to be the best if you ask some of the experts. Most swords you get online are stainless steel crap. So much more to rant... but I'll leave off here. Search online people!

Anyways, Hermione's transformation does not mean that she is totally able to do as she pleases. Just existing has put a giant beacon on her saying "oooh kill me!" sure there will be casualties, but to the determined army, any fortress can be breached.

Next chapter will be very Harry centric, because he's out of the stifling castle and in the big wide world, where he can have clones doing stuff perhaps more appropriate to a super-naruto fanfic (lol) And he meets somebody close to someone once close to him. Guesses anybody?

I'll try to fit in some info on the search for Hermione, or I might let it go for the chapter after. I don't like to totally map out the small stuff. Turns writing into a chore.

Anyways, REVIEW...cause thats the coal that powers _this_ engine yeah!


	13. Chapter 13

A/N:

Well, its nice to see you too. This is the 13th chapter of my current story . This is the fourth distinct version of the chapter since the original one had been wiped out after an unfortunate encounter with a computer virus. Lacking a back up, the next two versions were new and totally crap hence the long long _long_ delay...

First time I'm introducing guns, but then, in a modern world, a ninja who doesn't use _every_ tool available is a deluded one. My opinion, but don't quote me on that. Some pretty theatrical events...

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto.

XXXX

The _Spirit Shadow_ floated almost lazily beneath the clouds, leaving no trace of its passage. There was little progress to show for its abnormally long patrol over the British islands and its usually disciplined crew was getting restless. Not that they showed it of course. They were elite. They were servants of the line of Amaterasu. They were men and women of Hakumei.

There was no dissent. Instead there was a change in the atmosphere, a dip in the moods of literally everyone, from the damage control crew who were ever on alert, to the captain and the containment team, who tensely waited for even the ghost of a direct sighting of their unusual foe. Until now, every source, every account of the type of prey they pursued told them that every demonic entity above A class were monstrous berserkers, beings whose raw power overwhelmed whatever feeble intellect they previously possessed, unable to prevent their transformations into horrible looking things whose very presence tortured the environment into lifelessness.

So why was their prey so successful at eluding them? Why was this SS class so content to lie in wait? Why was it becoming increasingly difficult to believe that they would succeed?

The questions swirled around the head of the captain, a one eyed fifty year old who was particularly perplexed. In his little office, he went over their path, their patrol route, searching for a sign, a reason that would conveniently explain away the seemingly impossible happening of such a powerful monster having vanished without a trace. And the only proof to its existence was a single confirmed signature, one that now raised more questions than answers. Very disturbing questions.

The mess hall, or rather, what passed for such in the flying ship played host to many whispered conversations regarding the mission. It was encouraged because experience showed that sometimes, it was the common sense of the humble crewman that trumped the experience and intelligence of the officer. Of course, sometimes it was just frustrated people ranting (in low tones) to a patient ear.

"This is ridiculous. There is no possible way this creature could have evaded us. It is as if this ship and a fully fledged containment team has been sent out of the way for a while chasing a ghost. What do you think, Midori san?"

The addressed individual, namely, one of the female members of the containment team raised a delicate eyebrow before turning to the second in command of the vessel, who for this operation had been reduced to monitoring the sensors. The tea was good, she absently thought, even if it wasn't her favorite.

"Please be patient, Toshiro san. It is important that we are patient and do not let this setback affect our morale. Besides, if the situation is dire enough that the Shadow Empress feels that we need assistance from the _Harusame_, then the more eccentric guilds that ship plays host to would surely solve our problems in one fell sweep._"_

The _Harusame_ was what one might call a research vessel. It was also what the Imperial Sorcerers used to test the latest in magical shipboard toys. Being a Japanese design, it resembled a peculiar coastal design called Atakebune and actually spent most of her time above the Gobi desert. Of course, the reason they called that ships crew eccentric was quite simple. Nobody else would travel on a ship that seemingly had to be rebuilt from the keel up every single time somebody made a miscalculation. Which on average meant once every ten months.

But there were other reasons that this crew was not particularly fond of that vessel. For one, that ship was a Japanese vessel that had been ceded to the Chinese after a dispute, who then decided to keep the ships name intact, as a blatant insult. And a Chinese crew was sure to needle them about their inability to execute a mission that the ship was greatly suited to.

Toshiro gave a frustrated sigh. There was no solution in sight it seemed. In another hour or so, he would report back to the scanning room, where a group of assorted technicians managed sensory equipment ranging from 3 to 300 years old. It was not the sheer boredom that annoyed him so, but that there was very little to show for it. In his sixteen years on dragon boats, this was honestly the most fruitless mission he had participated in. At least in an assault on rouge sorcerers, there was at least a clear plan of action, a set time and date, a clear target that you knew the face and (most of the time at least,) capabilities of. Chasing a possibly non existent fairytale was not something that appealed to him. And now a science vessel was being called in. And that in turn meant that should the SS class demon they were searching for reveal itself, his ship would have to protect that vessel as well.

Not that it mattered. At this rate, they would find out that there was no target to chase. Where was that blasted demon?

In another part of that ship though, there _was_ a person who knew where the demon was. In fact that person, at the moment dressed in a regular crew uniform even had an idea as to exactly when and where the next sighting was to occur. In fact, one could even say they _exactly_ knew what the cause of all the odd readings were! And it was such a pity that no one thought to ask that single measly person. Because no one knew that highly informed individual existed...

XXXX

Harry Potter was currently sleeping in his bed. He was also doing chakra control exercises in the local park, as well as reading seven different books in the library, sparring with six of himself, practicing a duel wielding style (with sticks) through ten of himself and was exploring four different parts of London. There was a reason Harry Potter loved Shadow clones and it was because that single jutsu was the reason he was advancing as quickly as he was.

Chakra was a very bothersome power to develop without external instruction. On the other hand he had no doubt that he would have been limited by such instruction as well. Spamming shadow clones had become his training multiplier. He had no physical benefit from using the energy intensive clones, but the mental gains had been incredible.

Simply using these many shadow clones had forced him to develop his memory, his speed of thought, his reaction time, ability to quickly classify and assimilate information, even his ability to see high speed motion had improved. Though, the latter had led to him having to consciously suppress that particular improvement so that he could see television in any form. Seeing three minutes of a movie frame by frame at an agonizingly slow pace was the moment he finally realized that television was totally boring. 24 frames per second just didn't do it any more. Besides all that, he could work his muscle memory by doing kata after kata with clones, which really made him question what Naruto had been doing since he learned the jutsu. Not that it mattered. He still needed more power and skill before he could even imagine taking on an adult wizard.

The thing was, even with his chakra, his illusions and overpowered elementary attacks, it was extremely easy to take him out. Ordinary spells might be blocked by his earth and water based defenses but he had no doubt that a moderately strong spell (never mind the unforgivables) could blast straight through his meager defenses like a bullet through paper. Seeing two seventh years (a Slytherin and Gryffindor) slugging it out magically in the corridors had cured him of any bravado regarding magic. No matter what his opinions about their systems and society, they were deadly.

What he did have on his side was speed, but it did little good against area affect spells or wards. No doubt there even existed a ward that could block his shunshin. As such, he needed more training and knowledge of what magic could do. Diagon Alley looked ripe for a visit. Though it was better to wait after Christmas though. No need to have a Harry Potter Hunt if his first ride on the express was any indication.

XXXX

Tetsuya held his blade in his right hand, panting with exhaustion, his body ready to drop and embrace sweet oblivion. Yet he stood still, unsteady but unyielding, a pillar of determination, waiting for his opponent to make a move. And his opponent obliged, whirling a nondescript black katana around with absurd ease. Indeed, he used but three fingers to black and strike, leaving featherlight cuts on the younger ninja's arms. Takeda of the snow watched his latest pupil with barely concealed disgust.

"Come now Tetsuya_ kun,_ surely _this_ is not the limit of your determination to push yourself? Where is the energy you displayed mere months ago? Where is your willingness to use the blade that you hold? Has the feeling of an enemy toying with you rendered you useless? Is the _idea_ that there are warriors stronger than you so paralyzing? If so, _kill_ yourself now! There is no place for _weaklings_ like you in this world. If you are not a weakling though, if you are not less than the dust beneath my feet, prove yourself to me! Show me your fire! FIGHT ME!"

And so, he attacked three times with rage and determination. Three separate attempts to topple the mountain of skill mocking him. Three very impressive attempts that failed. He had finally used up all the adrenaline, the energy and the willpower that kept him awake and moving till then.

Sheathing his sword, Takeda left the room deep underneath Knockturn alley without a backward glance. The boy was improving, and he was somewhat driven. Perhaps the next time the "prodigy" met that fellow, he would give a better showing of himself. It was hardly proper for a dedicated warrior to slip into sulking over a loss. There would have been little point in fixing him up with that very expensive medical treatment if what survived was fit to be retired. Glancing at the silent sentinel that had materialized from behind him, the long time diplomat nodded his head dismissively. Tetsuya needed to be healed again before the next time they sparred. Kenji bowed and disappeared. If the good subordinate took a fraction longer than usual to leave though, it was dismissed it as nothing.

XXXX

Hermione wondered if all of Christmas would be as boring as the first day home. Sure, she was glad to see her parents and her house, but it held very little meaning to her now, compared to last year. As a girl who had practically married academics, she had been forever in the world of words. Countless meals and countless hours of sleep had been swallowed up in a need to know, a never ending thirst for knowledge.

And now, when her mind and body had been twisted beyond recognition, she found the concept of sitting in her room and reading...utterly dreadful. Her new body had completely overhauled her thinking. History was boring. Reading was boring. In fact, what she really wanted to do was cause mindless mayhem and some proper panic. There was a joy in anarchy she wasn't able to appreciate while human.

Tiggy had finally chosen to call herself Aurora, after the Roman goddess of dawn. Apparently it was suitably misleading and ironic to suit her sensibilities, not to mention the more appropriate inside joke about a fresh start. Hermione herself was unlikely to do away with her own name. It gave her an anchor to her old identity that had been washed away in her transformation. After all, she was far from human and wasn't even able to look upon her parents without an inexplicable sadness, yet she still was not totally divorced of the desire for companionship. Afterward, Aurora, her official guide to "Hermione's new physique" had said that it was because the latent bond between parent and child had been severed, irreparably.

After a few minute of nostalgic tears (without tear ducts no less) Aurora had spent the days between arrival at their home and Christmas constantly giving vague hints towards what her not so new body could do. Apparently there was some link between them, which had managed to totally eradicate the house elf speech of long ago and replaced it with the same modern middle class accent that had characterized Hermione a while back. Indeed, it was so much easier to understand things when your instructor didn't refer to herself in third person. Then again, having what looked like your twin sister teach you about yourself in a vaguely sarcastic and amused manner would have been eerily creepy either way.

At any rate, what she really needed was Harry. Now there was a stand up guy. Very honest, straightforward (completely forgetting that he's a ninja mind you), strong, didn't ignore her, had more than a couple of tricks up his sleeve and was very fun to be around. Who knew what shenanigans the raven haired boy was up to even in that very moment! This simply could not stand. Christmas was a very useless holiday anyway. Who cared about a day marked aside simply to pander to the delusions of human generosity? Yes. She had work to do. Though, getting her parents to let go of their precious daughter for the holidays was going to be tricky. Unless...

Aurora, formerly Tiggy of Hogwarts felt a chill in her non existent spine. For some reason, her mistress was going to do something that would make the former elf very unhappy. A half an hour later, she settled down in an annoyed manner to the role of Hermione Granger. All so her mistress could have fun. What joy!

Sometimes, it was just easier being a house elf.

XXXX

Severus Snape looked at the offered lemon drops sourly.

Why his boss preferred to play this joke on every visitor to that office was something he had no idea over. It would have made even less sense if the professor was told that the real reason for Albus's lemon drop fetish was the fact that it was a treat that Grindelwald enjoyed. But then again, that is a story that only Dumbledore knew, and would take to his grave.

In the meantime, he would convey the obscure warning his friend had given him and see if the headmaster could decipher what his friend was implying. Relying entirely on the vague sources that the Leader of the Light professed to maintain, the Headmaster had often reached conclusions that actually matched reality.

While he had not originally intended to share the cryptic warning, he was unsure if Lucius actually had a reason for running off like that. After all, even in the grip of the dark lords cruciatus, he had never seen his friend as troubled as in their last meeting.

"So Albus, what do you make of all this? Whatever the situation, Lucius would not relocate his family abroad unless he had absolute reason to believe that there was no safe location remaining in Britain. In other words this is something that threatens either the whole island or everyone of importance on it. And even then, he would choose France. To locate to the Americas like this is simply unthinkable, especially for someone with his commitments."

Dumbledore was long past his smile and eye twinkle stage. There was a threat out there and whatever it was, it was dangerous enough that it had scared a wizard of Lucius's caliber. Sure, he wasn't a Dumbledore or Voldemort, but there was a reason the man had ended the last war as a Dark Lords second in command.

The threat whatever it was had been named as a danger to Lucius and his family and Severus as well. Was this threat against former death eater's and their kin? Or was it something that was far more encompassing? Why was it that the Malfoy did not feel secure enough behind the family wards? As possibilities cycled through the mind of the centenarian, Severus was treated to the sight of Dumbledore with true steel in his eyes, something that he had last seen in the last war. It both awed and frightened him, because this was not the senile old coot who ran Hogwarts. This was the General who defeated a Dark Lord in one on one combat.

XXXX

In Kyoto, the chambers of Chiyo the seer remained as peaceful and quite as they always were. Even lunch was a very quiet affair, with a single attendant to feed the venerable woman. Today, the food in question was sushi, a dish that the lady enjoyed in moderation. With the latest news from the foreign agents, the staff were taking no chances in case of an assassination attempt. There would always be some people who knew of the oracle but kept quiet anyway. Despite the official figure of less than twelve for the last 150 years, as many as 50 could have known about her through one way or another, discovering the existence of the Empress's most loyal and hidden advisor. Consequently, as happens when too many eyes are pointed in only one particular direction (outside), nobody in the area, least of all the blind lady herself noticed when the attendant responsible for serving that particular platter of sushi sprinkled a little dust like powder on some of the individual pieces of sushi. A second powder was already in the water served alongside. Not that the attendant herself knew what it was supposed to do. That was what following orders meant, doing the job, even if you die right after.

Nobody had noticed her rather discrete practice of drugging the seer. Nobody had known that the attendant in question was responsible for a crime they were not aware had been committed. After all, nobody really suspects the empresses second cousin of treasonous behavior, suspicious fellows as they were. At least, nobody actually responsible for the seers safety.

The particular form of bipartite magical concoction being administered was known to quite a few magical researchers (and brain researchers) as a way to steer a persons dreams and to subject them to visions of your choice. The drug served as both anchor and beacon, using a ritual to insert the necessary visions into the required persons dreams. It was used to control nightmares. But a very small group of people knew of an alternate use of the otherwise ordinary concoction. The drug could also be used to subject those talented with abilities in divination with controllable false visions and prophesies.

True, it wasn't totally foolproof, because the truth often "leaked" into the fiction, and the combination of truth and lie added still odder visions. But still, a seer specific assault that eliminated any possibility of the seer being able to anticipate such activity? Priceless. Especially considering that the Empress had a rather unusual reliance on the seer in question. The idea that the non existent demon was SS class was just a bonus.

But then again, when has humanity ceased to exploit such a freely give advantage?

XXXX

In an unknown cave in an unknown place, a group of men moved with a purpose. Over them, casting a shadow from overhead lights was a vessel of such fantasy that no English wizard would have recognized it.

It was the child of a project so outlandish that most of its visionaries had, at one point or the other been considered eccentric dreamers in polite society. The members were what would have been called engineers. As such, they were called Craftsmen. They were all brought together and secreted away in this place by the same organization. Some were eager, men whose lives were finally been given direction. Some were dreamers, men who wished to prove that their vision would bear fruit. And some were coerced, unwilling participants to a madness they could only hope would leave them alive at its conclusion.

China, and by proxy her allies, had long been masters of the sky, with navies that made short work of any enemy they were tasked to take care of. But in a way, their whole tech tree as it were, was stuck in the distant past. The same sorcery that kept a fifteen meter long personnel dragon boat in the air, also served to keep the 400 meter long Zheng He in fighting condition. This was a solid field of study that since about a hundred years had ceased to produce anything that could be called progress. They had reached the limits of the Dragon Boat. They had beaten that horse to the death.

But that was exactly what the Imperial Navy demanded in their ships, progress. What was anyone to do, when like an evolutionary dead end, the sorcery of dragon boats ended its impressive run with boundaries that could not be crossed and limits that could not be broken? Ships like the _Harusame_, once helped sorcerers research ways to get airborne and fight there even more easily. Now, they were useless, vessels that existed to further the ruse that the Immortal Emperors forces were still leaping ahead in the never ending marathon for the skies.

It took a while, but some bright intellect, buried in the nations Confucian bureaucracy came up with an idea. If wooden ships had finally reached their limits, why not make a metal one?

It was a radical idea, not because the Chinese were an insular, backward bunch who could not take inspiration from their non magical cousins, but because for some reason, there existed no published work that could be built upon. Nobody had ever considered the idea of a floating metal ship, ever. It was quite annoying to learn that in the brilliance driven society of Chinese sorcery, nobody had invested effort in a field of study that they would have to literally develop from scratch.

So, they did the next best thing. They gathered up the people who had shown some sign of interest in the field, the people who could make metal into what they needed, and the various criminals who wouldn't mind (or didn't have a choice) working hard in exchange for limited, yet strictly monitored freedom.

And years of effort, and innumerable failures, partial successes and disasters later, they had finally made a prototype functional battleship. The lessons learned were hard. And the rewards were few, but the names of those involved were guaranteed to be immortalized in the minds of future sailors.

All of which was great in theory. The problem was that government funded secret projects had a tendency to be...subverted, by very unscrupulous people. After all, not even the most powerful magic can prevent people (*cough*bureaucrats*cough*) from trying to make a quick buck, or trying to avoid blackmail.

XXXX

Eighteen clones were currently occupied in London proper, scouting, observing and otherwise wandering. Seeing as it was the holidays, and seeing as Christmas itself was fast approaching, Harry wanted to use the holidays for things more than brute force brooding. Hence, his clones had gone about with individual tasks and then been set to wander for whatever caught their interest. One clone had been sent to make sure his investments were in order. Another was discretely looking for someone who could do a custom order for his swords. He knew there were people in the business because he had seen live blades being used in combat – by civilians. That clone was meant to be quite thorough in his quest. A third clone was on the lookout for military grade combat knives, and maybe something better. Still others were on the lookout for new places to train, new locations for resources and stuff that he felt he just could not put off.

Two clones, Cat and Bear in particular, had a rather more grim task. They were supposed to find and observe the more criminal elements of the huge city. As a mercenary/assassin/ninja, he would eventually need to find clients. And inevitably clients were often the scum of the earth, just prettied up a bit. Criminals who had risen from the streets, rich people who had extended their tastes to levels the law did not permit, underworld lords who needed jobs done and were willing to pay generously, there was no shortage of people who needed the services he eventually wished to provide. As such, it was imperative that he find out just who these men and women, who were all but untouchable by law were. Because as uneasy as the thought made him, that was where his future business lay. Also, knowing just who the people he did not want to cross were was a huge advantage in not being killed himself.

As such, the two clones trawled the streets and wandered the slums, keeping an eye out for the more visible elements of British underworld. There were the obvious thugs. And above them were the local gang leaders or whatever they called them in these parts. And then, above those was where true organization really began. Local muggers and the like were small time petty crooks, a rather pitiful lot. Similar to them were the solo whores and their pimps. Still separate were the drug peddlers and users. They were all dime a dozen in the slum-like areas of the city.

But the 'elite' criminals operated at a different level. They were the ones who dealt in number games. Extortion, racketeering, kidnapping and so on and so forth were crimes where you dealt with high figures of cash. They required a certain classiness to pull it off and stay 'clean'.

The underworld was everywhere if you knew where to look. They dealt in drugs, flesh trade (and its not just women who get trafficked), kidnapping, extortion, murder, pit fighting, among others. They were basically large scale operations and relied on tactics and hired muscle. The bosses needed a lot of thugs and consequently, maintained their own sets of them. As such, they were plenty, none too bright and tended to be tough in a brawl.

Britain as a whole had near crippling gun laws, which put the people who actually wanted firearms in a bind. Consequently, unlike America, there was no bountiful supply of semi automatic pistols for the street level goon to shoot each other with. Melee weaponry was the rule, not the exception, and battles usually involved beating each other until only one side was standing. That is assuming of course that they weren't just knifed to death.

On the other hand, organized crime supplied their elements with pretty advanced weaponry, which were not used too often because frankly, they weren't needed. There was an undercurrent of subtlety and the clones could themselves see that local policemen, where they existed, whether willingly or in fear for their own lives, ignored the signs of people "carrying". So it was that instead of finding anything about the very top of the food chain, Cat and Bear stumbled upon the enabler, an arms dealer.

When they had originally gone in search of immoral people who were likely to be clients, there was a need to find someone who could lead them to the top. Unfortunately, local muggers did not know anything that they needed. So they played a game of asking questions and finding people, using copious amounts of genjutsu to loosen the tongue in ways money could not. Of course, watching people look spooked at the sight of what looked like a Jedi mind trick was just a bonus. By the end of that particular day, they had a lot of names of small time mobsters and had managed to "interview" one or two of them. That had led to new found knowledge of "the way of things". Also, they had learnt that guns were a plenty, if you had the cash and knew where to look.

When Cat and Bear had gone to the location they had eventually found, a warehouse in a part of the city they had not bothered to search, they did not expect to see a couple of men milling about carrying pistols and sub-machine guns. The local dealer was at least East European in origin and had a habit of grinning as he conducted his business. But language and temperament issues aside, he obviously had goods and knew them quite well.

So, in order to continue their mission, Cat remained behind to spy on the local happenings and Bear went on to "interview" the rest of the names on his list. Eventually, he would move on to the people who were "mid" level in the organizations that warred over London in their pursuit of territory. And finally, Harry Potter would close in on those who were the true puppeteers of the world. The question was, what would he do afterwards?

XXXX

The _Spirit Shadow_ was on the trail of the most frustrating target any ship of the Japanese Navy had ever faced. Elusive and flighty, the SS class demon was a mighty foe. However, for some reason, they had finally locked on to a clear and interference free signal. What possible reason a creature like this would have to stay in this part of the country was not known. However, it did mean that their rendezvous with the _Harusame_, over the English channel had to be suitably delayed. Of course, the fact that if they managed to contain the beast right here, the meeting would not have to occur was left unsaid. Whichever the culture, there were always some people you just wished to avoid.

The ship sailed at full speed to a particular part of Surrey where they had narrowed the source of their signal to. Then they waited. The containment team had to be fully prepared and the ship prepped for support. The waiting was finally over.

XXXX

Mantis sighed. It could be said his was the most boring task of all. He had to purchase an assortment of combat knives. But in fact, the knives were already brought. His real job was to go around and collect the pre ordered knives from the various locations around London.

Because of his second world war experience, Richards had educated Harry in basic self defense using a knife. Specifically, a Fairbairn Sykes fighting knife, a British design that was close to a stiletto. The double edged dagger was one of the few "real" weapons that a young Harry Potter had handled and was enamored with. It was also kept in a very very safe location, along with other items that the old man had willed to him.

While a knife wasn't a sword, Harry was fully prepared to arm himself with plenty of knives, hidden and easily deployed, for when that sword isn't enough. Or if he was disarmed. Knives are excellent weapons if you knew your way around them well enough. If not, you'd be better off without touching them at all.

So, Harry had asked around and found local makers for the rather iconic dagger, and other models as well. He had thoroughly investigated them from behind genjutsu and was satisfied. So, when he finally had the money, he had immediately ordered after McGonogall visited. And now, he could collect. Which was where Mantis came in. His job was simply to run around and collect the knives from the various places and people he had entrusted them to. Mantis wondered if his "brothers" were having better luck.

Harry had gotten several styles of knives, from the stiletto based FS, and Gerber Mark II, to the more slashing oriented bowie types, like the KA-BAR and its derivatives. Also purchased were boot knives, neck knives, and so on, a full arsenal of knives. It was good to have cash. Thankfully, his investments were beginning to show results even this early. Otherwise, it would have been rather unwise to spend all his money to buy weaponry that he wouldn't be using yet.

Of course, finding readily available Tanto designs was a pleasant surprise, as they had been popular in America for a while. It didn't do much except give him a set of proper carbon steel daggers of a style he had familiarized himself with for a while now. Many companies seemed to have them, but with the instinct of somebody who knew his blades, and a little chakra technique and genjutsu or two, he had picked up his own set of multiple length Tanto.

XXXX

There was one clone however that was tasked with doing something less productive than worry about weapons or information. Fox was perhaps the most unique of all the clones sent to London proper. Fox was also the beginning of a new direction of the shadow clone. While all the other clones had been more or less the same as all the other ones Harry had created over the last two years, Fox was special.

Unlike the others, Fox was sent as an afterthought, an incomplete clone. All the others had an assignment that was rather clear cut. Fox on the other hand had been created in a moment of clear distraction for Harry. Immediately after Hermione's insanity phase, he had been searching for a way to know exactly what his future height and build would be and had been stumped. In yet another moment of timely assistance, Hermione had told him about something called aging potion. It was simply brilliant. A vial or so and he could grow himself temporarily to a future version that gave a pretty good idea on what his future build was. And a height of 5'11 was not too bad. Idly, he had also noted that his choice of length for dual swords was still not a bad in the future.

Of course, having noted down the information and simply not having an immediate use for it, he had forgotten the matter altogether. But upon getting home. He had found something he had not considered before, his star wars hobby.

He was going to need bigger armor. Yes, the prized stormtrooper costume so steeped in the memory of his mentor would be too small once puberty hit him good and proper. In other words, if he wanted to continue to revel in making a mock stormtrooper armada or two (clones were useful for that) he would have to get new armor, fit to his size. Which would be a problem, since he knew neither the people nor the how to related with the building of cheap plastic costumes.

Thus Fox was made responsible for the more frivolous part of Harry's Christmas to-do list. His creation itself was in the midst of a distraction of the returning memories of a more temporary shadow clone. What resulted was that Fox was more interdependent than the others.

All shadow clones are created with three unforgettable pieces of knowledge. Three facts that no power could erase for the duration of their existence. The first of course was what the clone was created for, the purpose. The second was who the clone had the personality of, namely Harry. And finally, the fact that the clone was an expendable unit. This last one made the clone a very brave kamikaze unit, because it was extremely willing to sacrifice its very existence for the good of its creator.

Fox had the second part slightly twisted. He wasn't carrying ALL of Harry's personality. He was in a sense, defective. On the other hand, Fox was carrying one of the imaginary personalities that were half existent in the unused parts of Harry's brain. Fox had passed the threshold into a separate personality. Sure he was still Harry's willing slave, sure he'd sacrifice himself and return his memories, but the part that thought like Harry, did so no longer. Thus, instead of worrying about weapons like his creator, Fox was more concerned with how to cover himself up in bulletproof armor that looked cool. He also had a lot less qualms about doing the dirty work, but that wouldn't matter for now.

XXXX

There was a considerable commotion for the event of Hermione visits Harry. The Dursleys, all hyped up on Christmas could not comprehend why the little girl was spending her vacation with him instead of her own family. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but they could wonder couldn't they? The apparently happy go lucky girl with the same er... gifts as Harry was a delightful little girl who did not seem all there and was also a bit overly fixated on the boy. They would have called it a crush, but it was more like a kid with their favorite toy than anything romantic they could think of.

Hermione followed Harry to his room, quite happily planning all the all too fun things the two of them could be doing. Like target practice! Or another favorite she just knew the boy would love, Dodge the Bullets! Or sparring on vertical surfaces, or lecturing him on the uses of exotic multi-bladed weapons! Or... or... something else she would come up with later! Yes, poor boy, already shivering in anticipation as she thought out loud.

Obviously, her sanity was a bit conditional.

Harry shut the door almost the very instant the two had reached his room. A sound dampening seal on the walls activated, he turned and glared at his all too innocent looking classmate/stuff of nightmares, recent improvements notwithstanding .

"Why are you here? Isn't Christmas something to be spent with family?"

Sometimes irritation is the best cure for mind numbing logic induced fear. Maybe.

Hermione wasn't too phased. Harry was always grumpy like that. He really needed to loosen up, or he would get stress marks on his face by the years end.

"I know its Christmas. But then, I was getting bored and I knew that you would be getting bored and then I thought that I could help you not get bored which would help me not get bored and If we help each other not get bored then I wouldn't have to find you after I get bored which would be more boring but I know I'm not bored now because you're not so bored now but then again, you're looking more angry than bored and... and... I'm going to stop now yeah...?"

Harry however, was at least thankful that other people had not been drawn into the insanity surrounding the two of them. At the very least, couldn't the girl be the least bit rational?

"Granger! I'm entirely not sure exactly how you mean to alleviate my boredom, but for gods sake please leave anyone else out of it! Can you at least promise me that?"

Yes, a fine shinobi he was, reduced to this. Hermione didn't even bother to think about her answer.

"Sure Harry! Besides, nobody else is as fun as you are! Tell you what, I've thought about this, and I realized something! We have both got powers that the rest of the muggles or wizarding folk don't! That makes us..."

The drum roll was a bit much admittedly. As was the pose. Though, not as much as what came next...

"...SUPERHEROES!"

Harry knew he had to nip this in the bud, or he'd never ever get anything he wanted done. Inability to kill her be damned, but if he ever got stuck in anything resembling spandex, there would be blood. No time like the present to suitably send sanity into the abyss.

XXXX

The warehouse never truly shutdown. Given the illegal and valuable cargo contained within, roving guards carrying sub machine guns patrolled the area mercilessly, going so far as to eye wandering cats warily.

Cat had been the chosen "customer" earlier. With a couple of genjutsu and a thorough checking for any magical traces that may intrude upon their operation, they were happy enough to try and infiltrate the place in their own manner.

Their goal was two fold. One was to learn names. The other was to actually acquire equipment. He was a ninja, and unlike those idiotic wizards who whined about electricity not working around magic and don't try to solve the problem(and so stay in the middle ages), he was perfectly willing to train in the modern way of killing people. A silenced pistol is far more common than a kunai as a cause of death, in this world at least. And there were no doubt people he just wouldn't bother to stab to death. Though, the fact that he had yet to actually kill someone was a curious fact, unless you counted Voldemort, which was really a whole different story.

The idea was to convince the head of the operation, "Boris" that he had been recommended by a trusted source. This fictitious recommended fellow had no prior knowledge, but could be trusted to a terrible degree. This would be accomplished by genjutsu that was controlled by the victim itself, a "trust me, I'm your friend" genjutsu, that turned him into the victims most trusted person. Then genjutsu was applied to inject feelings and emotions that served to subvert the gut instinct that people relied on. In essence, this second genjutsu was given a result to achieve, and the target nervous system would do the needful to achieve it. It was however, highly chakra intensive, as control had essentially been relinquished to the victim of the genjutsu. Thankfully, it worked quickly enough.

From what he could decipher, "Boris", (a more cliched pseudonym there never was...) the heavily cliched stereotypical Russian giant (complete with fur coat and villain-ish facial hair) was a very simple man. He didn't have any morals to speak of, but he didn't engage in any vices either. A person who simply did not care. The only things he cared about were the guns of the world. He made a nice clean profit in illegal arms, but did not try to peddle unnecessarily either. He surrounded himself with mercenaries, and watched the world as it came out with new ways to kill single people at a distance

However, it also looked like this was the only person they could go to for their needs in the immediate future. Bear and Cat had sighed despondently before moving on to actually buy a gun, even if it meant dealing with that Russian accent, even if he was fluent enough.

"So my friend, what type of weapon do you want? Beginners prefer semi automatic pistols. Cheap, and excellent for a first time. Or do you like submachine guns? Cheap rain of bullets. Not my favorite, but plenty like them. Rifles are many and need skill. I would advise that you know exactly what you want if you are planning to buy rifles."

Well, Pistols were more suited for his goals. That and snipers, but he didn't think he was ready for that kind of lethality yet...

Boris placed the pistol on the table, expertly dismantling and reassembling it in a very impressive manner, showing a lot of practice with the weapon.

"This is a Makarov, fires 9 by 18 mm round. Standard issue soviet side arm. Eight round magazine, effective range of 50 meters. My favorite of them all. Nostalgic yes?"

Cat took the unloaded weapon and weighed it. Less than a kilo, and it was somewhat small. He nodded.

Another weapon joined them on the table.

"This, is Colt M1911, fires .45 ACP, with a 7 round magazine. Bigger bullet, but slower. Americans love this weapon. They say it beats 9mm every time, but again, they _are_ yanks..."

Again, he took it and aimed down the sight.

"This, is a Walther PP. Big brother to PPK, your friend James Bond's favorite weapon. Round for this particular barrel is .380 ACP. Small bullet, but more concealable. Magazine holds seven rounds."

And so went the demonstration. Despite having only seven different models in stock, he promised to get any model within a month. To demonstrate the weapons available, he took out an encyclopedia style publication, in a language he did not know. The script was roman, (as opposed to Cyrillic) but he couldn't understand the words. On the other hand, the marks that denoted availability of models were very abundant. Who knew so many models of pistols existed? And the man described nearly a hundred more in between too. The man was a poorly hidden gun enthusiast and was eloquent when asked to elaborate. In those three hours, Cat believed that he learned more about semi automatic pistols than he would in the rest of his life.

Due to the large amount of cash that Harry could now access, he could afford to stock up on the equipment that he would be soon enough be applying to training. However, Harry did not feel ready to commit with the more modern pistols, he lacked the experience necessary to categorically state what he needed. On the other hand, his inherited collection held examples of two wartime pistols, the Luger P08, and the Walther P38, both working types, and both pistols he had spent his fair share of time poking, and analyzing the workings of. The problem with the former was its ease of jamming, the complicated Toggle lock operation requiring a strict cleanliness, and the latter was relatively problem free, as far as he could tell.

Although, once he got his swords, he would be perfectly happy with a holdout pistol. But not yet. Though, the practice could come in handy...

"I'll take 500 rounds of 9 mm Luger. I have a Walther P38 I would like to practice on."

Boris nodded with a pleased expression. A sale was always good.

"Good! I may also have some extra magazines for P38 lying around from few years back. I will sell them cheap, but they may need some cleaning."

Not much of a problem that. Harry did get a new holster for the weapon.

After he "left", Cat continued to snoop around, seeing what other goodies Boris had been sitting on. Despite the outer appearance, the warehouse was fairly empty. Some crates of ammunition, a few sub machine guns and what appeared to be two Kalashnikovs. The man did not keep his merchandise visible.

Bear of course, was not idle and was using his time to make a trip back to Privet drive. Harry would soon find some goodies in his trunk. Of course, the semi independent clone would have to disperse first.

XXXX

After a spirited twenty minutes of weird logic that would have made the Quibbler proud, Harry quickly shuffled his insane associate away from populated areas and into the local park, which was at the time marginally less populated on account of the freezing cold, daylight notwithstanding.

Walking arm in arm, the two could have been assumed to be a young couple enjoying the holidays. Although, if anyone had seen the two scamper up a tall tree like a pair of squirrels, they would have revised their opinion.

In any case, the two were comfortably nestled in the upper branches of a generic tree, which was covered in snow. Harry had finally asked his companion what exactly the relationship they had was. Were they friends? Allies? Mutually benefiting acquaintances? Or any other of the innumerable terms humanity invented (at least, in the English or Japanese that he understood) to define cordial relationships.

Hermione had thought for a bit, and had opened her mouth to reply when both of them stiffened with unease. Something was wrong. Harry took out his battered kodachi, Hermione drew out her Single Action Army, and they waited, in an unnatural stillness and silence, unaware of the drama that was right on top of them.

XXXX

The "extra" passenger on the ship was a little panicked. There really should not have been a real life source of the signature that the sensors told the crew was an SS class World Eater. She did not know what was the original source of the particular signature that the sensors were given and supposed to be tracking, but had been assured that it was "a monster that did not exist any more". As a result of this unexpected real life presence of this signature (that had conveniently taken the place of a real World Eater signature) though, the entire ship was going into combat against an enemy that should not exist.

The real problem was not the imminent fight though. _Harusame_ was supposed to have docked with this ship five minutes ago. However, this mishap had resulted in the entire thing being called off. Now the original plan, which she did not know, and would not have been participating in, could not be effected. It was time for the worst case scenario, as far as she was concerned. Slaughter and sabotage.

From the floor of the unused cargo bay, the female infiltrator rose. She was clad in a full length black body glove, with select armor at shoulders, forearms and shins. It was designed to prevent any and all emission of magic, an expensive, and fragile stealth suit. She was armed with the same magic resistant weapons that were used by ninja field operatives. However, she also carried a single Steyr Mpi 81. Ordinary ship crew should not be able to defend against such things. She was Hornet, and she would succeed.

Sorcery in the east was highly based on energy and motion. A sorcerer attacked by sending a bolt of lightning at you from the sky above or by sending a wave of water at you. Transfiguration, as known in the west was almost totally left alone. For one, it was fairly short term and was highly inefficient in their conversions. The closest equivalent was to turn transmutation, which did not convert any of the elements involved.

Also, a sorcerers defenses were partly anti firearm in nature, designed as it were to oppose small mass high velocity objects. Arrows were quite troublesome, bullets fairly more so. To the trained sorcerer/mage, neither represent a credible threat, as they tended to have automatic defenses (British called them wards) anchored to their clothes, keyed to such things, among others. Hence, ninja opted to do close up kills, sprinting at very high speeds to stab or behead an unwary magic user. However, individual sorcerers were more, or less sensitive to magic, sometimes to such an extent that sorcerer to sorcerer combat could be accomplished over distances as large as five miles. At close ranges, even the slightest hint of magic emitted by the body may alert the sorcerer of malicious intent.

In order to accomplish this, ninja had to entirely abandon the use of external magics. No particular focus was used. All magic was fairly internal. As such, ninja magic for the last three hundred used revolved around enhancing the body. Magic was used to control metabolism, senses, body structure and so on. At the higher skill sets, a ninja could speed up the body and mind until the world slowed down. Still, it was not always enough, and sometimes ninja died in spite of skill, preparation and surprise.

Firearms were not traditional ninja weapons in any case. Ninja were not traditionally sent to deal with ordinary humans, against whom such a pistol or sniper rifle would have been highly effective. Ninja sent to take care of Rogue ninja, or said rogue ninja themselves sometimes carried them, as ordinary people and ninja did not have the all encompassing fortress style defenses that sorcerers employed. But then, being ninja, they usually had some means of avoiding getting shot...

XXXX

The first crewman she found was an off duty officer. A flick of the wrist, and a four inch dull black spike went through his throat and spine. She did not even bother to check her handiwork. The rear of the ship was fairly deserted, seeing as many of the men were on standby to provide assistance to the containment team, leaving her path clear of potential corpses. It was standard practice that once the preliminary containment was achieved, there was little need to move from place as most of the battle would be a contest of power and focus between the target and the team, with the assistance of the ships equipment. Destruction of such a high class foe was literally worth the damage that might be sustained by a ship.

Consequently, the magical reactor, what they called the ships heart (literally, as the entire "power-plant" was based on sorcery and animal hearts) was crewed by a skeleton crew. The comparatively large room, covered with arcane symbols and odd devices, many of which must have served no purpose at all, was barely glanced at before the intruder began her grim work.

As soon as Dragon entered, two poisoned spikes were hammered into the heads of two men huddled over a station. Still in motion, her gun rose and spat fire, emptying a 25 round clip into six men, who were hovering next to the main control, in an almost perfect position for a single burst. Four men fell, splattering blood over the console and floor. And the weapon was dropped after clicking empty, for the next part was close quarters.

Two of them were ninja and had refused to die, moving as soon as they had sensed the intruder. A moment after she entered, they had moved out of the way so as to avoid any projectiles she may have sent their way, avoiding the rain of lead she had sent at them in that in that split second advantage she had. Consequently, they were not in the locations that were fired at, seeing as she had only a fraction of a second to pick her targets.

So the black clad woman raced across the room, dropping the empty pistol and drawing out two dull black Jian in a flourish as she jumped at her two opponents, who were wielding a pair of Sai and a katana.

Due to the proximity of the highly volatile and sensitive equipment, the three were fairly subdued, staying away from the more flashy acrobatics that could have destroyed all of them in a flash. And Dragon was skilled enough to hold off the slightly longer reaching katana and the short and quick Sai.

Two minutes into the high speed melee, the katana wielder was beheaded. The woman had let her right shoulder be stabbed clean through with a Sai, even as her right arm had beheaded the first fellow. A hit from the Sai, a stab wound was much more preferable to the loss of a head or limb the katana would have accomplished. She was quick enough that her lone opponent could not capitalize on her weakness. Another thirty seconds later, the second ninja also lay on the floor, a Jian through the groin having suitably incapacitated him. She took a few seconds of rest before finishing off the incapacitated ninja. The next part was the really tricky bit.

The _Spirit Shadow_ had 24 spheres called celestial orbs in various locations on the ship, each slightly bigger than a basketball, which served as both capacitors and power distributors, that supplied raw magical energy to the different systems, whether they be life support, or the lift system that kept the ship airborne. The power to this whole system was provided from the heart of the ship, where she was. The ship as a whole, despite its magical origin was divided up along surface navy fashion, with quite similar in purpose (because they were definitely not similar in function) equipment, a way of letting a crew of squibs, ninja and sorcerers operate the vessel.

The heart room had five cylinders, at the corners of a pentacle, with a larger cylinder in the center, with various displays and small stations here and there. Each translucent, glowing cylinder contained a suspended rigid sphere, the heart of an animal dead of natural causes turned via sorcery into a red sphere, a heart stone. In a ship of this size, this meant that the heart of ravens, pigs or horses could be used, each subtly changing the performance of the ship accordingly. Heart stones drew magic directly from the fabric of the universe, supplying it in a more usable form. This sorcery had been around a long time and was a very exact art. Controls and balances kept the power drawn from the systems at a rate that ensured the ship and its systems remained intact and not vaporized.

Dragon carefully fiddled with the controls, pushing buttons and turning dials until the produced power was greater than what the celestial orbs could safely handle, something that was extremely difficult when you consider the safeguards built into the thing. In theory this would eventually overload them, blowing up the ship. Next, she smashed up the visible controls, preventing anyone from saving the now doomed ship. She sheathed the two swords and holstered the discarded pistol and left the room.

The woman ran towards the life boats, an arm slightly hindering her thanks to blood loss and pain. Pain could be ignored, but not completely forgotten. She reached the closest vessel and boarded it. A quickly entered password, known only to command crew, told the boat to leave the ship without alerting anyone inside. A whole section of outer hull opened up and allowed the craft, which resembled a fully enclosed and winged powerboat to leave and speed off. The hull then closed up behind her.

The small crafts emergency transmitter was carefully adjusted and a single word was sent to the universe. Her mission was finally done.

XXXX

The first sign that something was wrong was when the celestial orb right next to the bow exploded. It was a very dangerous area, especially considering that one of the magazines was nearby in a heavily armored section. The resulting secondary explosions nearly blew off a full fifth of the ship, killing off a few men too.

Nearly twenty seconds after, not quite enough time for anybody to begin damage control, the others began to explode, shattering many sections of the hull and blowing off magically charged wooden armor plate from the outside. In the end, only two were left intact, at a capacity close to but not quite beyond maximum. They were saved because the last exploded orb also took out the ships heart, annihilating the heart stones and rendering the entire power grid inert. A full half of the ships crew, not to mention all but one of the containment team lay dead, including the men dead from the intruders direct hand.

With the loss of majority of the ships systems, the ship was rendered fully visible to any magical being, the innate nature of the vessel thankfully rendering it still invisible to normal people. Emergency systems immediately began to turn the ship towards the closest water body that would allow it to be safely ditched, the Straits of Dover.

The captain of the ship had been killed, along with most of the command crew. So command fell to Toshiro, who did not relish the promotion.

"Damage Report!"

The crew of the sensor room had been wounded rather severely when the ship had decided to roll. So there was a slight delay as more cognizant men were helping their comrades with basic first aid. Even limbs could be regrown (with difficulty) but it was pointless if they did not survive to get the required treatments. As a consequence of this though, many of the more severe wounds were cauterized, without anesthetic. The first two minutes were spent in blood and screams.

A blood stained crewman with a broken arm shouted and tapped away at a flickering screen that was scrolling text at a haphazard rate. And cursed. The ship was a total loss. It was barely staying up as it was and wasn't even salvage worthy. Entire sections had disappeared from the power "systems". The heart was gone. Just two celestial orbs were active, powering propulsion, life support and basic navigational aids. The only thing left was to safely scuttle her.

Toshiro, by now having a good idea as to exactly how desperate the situation really was, ordered the crew to abandon ship. He, along with the last member of the containment team decided to stay with the slowly accelerating wreck until it was assured that she would drop into deep water. Secrecy was paramount, even in this crisis. Of course, it would not have been an issue if they were sailing over Asia. But Europe was an entirely different matter. Of course, they did not forget to send a distress signal to the nearest friendly vessel, along with a communication to look out for survivors.

The remaining crew was quickly loaded onto the "life boats", three man, short ranged, barrel shaped vessels that would nonetheless get them to at least the English channel, leaving alone those which had been blown away or rendered inoperable. With nothing to lose, the outer hull sections were blown away, as opposed to neatly opened, letting the smaller vessels get off the ship. Also came the more versatile powerboat with wings types of which two had been in storage, but one survived, which held the surviving ninja contingent, all six of them. They would head for Takeda's base in central London.

XXXX

Both Harry and Hermione had heard the distant explosion quite a distance above them. Both were admittedly shocked when they made out the clear frame of an odd looking ship tilting to the side and expelling debris. A more observant clone used up all its chakra to send the few people in the park outside with a really strong genjutsu.

In the next few minutes, they were treated to the sight of several smaller shapes racing away from the bigger shape which had first been falling towards the ground, but had seemingly stopped its decent and had rolled side over side two times before beginning to slowly lumber towards the east, seemingly at an angle, like a ship that was half sunk, trailing smoke and debris. Frankly it looked a bit like some airship disaster. Above them, small pieces of debris were just falling like rain.

While most of it simply seemed to be shredded wood, some of the debris was far more intriguing.

Seeing as there was no immediate danger, the two relaxed and began to look around. Harry sent his clones to scour the park for whatever they could see.

In the end, the most interesting bits included some badly damaged, if intact metal safes, pieces of furniture, mysterious lumps of various sizes of metal and even a burnt wok that looked to have been perforated from a hand grenade explosion.

The park having been empty, was reasonably undisturbed. And a strong wind jutsu swept up the small bits of debris that would have marked the existence of the odd incidence.

Hermione left after sunset, telling Harry that she would be back later. The vacation wasn't at an end and tomorrow was Christmas proper. More fun could always be had later.

Of course just when things had finally settled down he was treated to a set of memories of a very odd shadow clone.

XXXX

Wolf smiled. It had taken a while, but his quest, perhaps the most difficult of them all was over.

"It will take three months. I shall have your blades ready for delivery in three months. Are you sure you will not let me engrave upon it?"

Wolf shook his head. Finding an actual swords smith in the middle of London had been next to impossible. Never mind one who would create the obviously Japanese weapons he required. So Wolf was not entirely surprised to find said blade smith was American. It had taken a long time, he had asked around, jumping between locations in the city until he found who he needed. Eventually, he had stumbled upon this man in his early thirties, not a recognized master of any sort, but certainly, this obscurely located fellow had done excellent work. His displayed Japanese katana were of high quality giving hope that these simpler chokuto style blades would be of good quality. With the high price he had pushed on the blades, the smith had quite pridefully declared that if the blades were not to his satisfaction, he would replace the set for free. Perhaps the one thing that the man had done, that gained his respect was to not ask questions beyond those needed to fulfill design. Obviously, the guy was a professional, not to mention discrete. So more pluses there. So he really had no problem ordering two kodachi as well. Might as well stick with proper short swords.

Well, that was one mission completed. Wolf slipped behind a building and dispelled, bewildering two shifty looking characters who had been following the "easy mark".

XXXX

Above the English Channel, the _Harusame_ sailed invisibly over the ocean, at a height of 500 meters. The ship was fairly large and resembled an ancient Japanese fortress on a water hull. Being a vessel not usually sent outside friendly territory, it did not have the complicated passive magical wards and defenses oriented towards making it unseen by magical beings of any kind. Consequently, it stayed above open water, where wizards tended not to tread.

As the first boat approached, a beacon was used to guide it in. It was the infiltrator/stowaway and was clearly expected. A hanger of sorts opened up in the rear and let the new arrival glide in.

The next arrivals did not fare as well. . As soon as the ships were close enough to be unable to escape, ports opened up on the side and bright orbs lanced out at near sonic velocities, vaporizing the life boats from the doomed Japanese vessel. In ten minutes, proper targeting had ensured the annihilation of the every boat that had headed for that beacon. The ship had been specially overhauled for combat three months ago, and consequently was much more heavily armed than usual.

Nearly an hour later, the _Spirit Shadow_ slowly reached the same location. Sections of the ship that had been only mildly damaged were now on fire an it was obvious to anyone there that the nobody was still alive. Still, the ship had to be sunk, so the Chinese vessel lined up what passed for her bow at the other ship and let loose a single shot. The projectile was a naval sixteen inch shell, used in battleships. Not an actual such shell of course, but the subsequent explosion was impressive enough. Especially to the two wizards on broomsticks down below who had come up to see what the commotion was all about. Five minutes later, all parties had departed the scene, leaving nothing but some floating wood far below.

XXXX

Harry looked bug eyed at all the stuff that was in the garage. The really odd part was that he hadn't paid for it himself. Well, odd for him. It might have to do with the fact that by his new memories, he had just killed a lot of really evil people. Or it might have been that a certain Fox masked clone had broken up two entire drug distribution operations, leaving behind nearly seventy bodies. Or maybe it was the storage scroll that had was labeled six million pounds. Fox had been busy. The mass storage scroll marked "armor" was not really curing his headache either.

Sitting in a corner was a bunch of stolen star wars costumes, including a Bobba Fett style Mandalorian helmet, a full set of adult stormtrooper armor, a full Biker scout armor, and neatly sliced quarter size pieces of Tie pilot helmet. This day couldn't possibly get any more weird.

Thankfully, it didn't. However, he still had to go through the memories of an very active clone who had lost any desire to follow the law. Not to mention, the brutal slaughter of drug runners and associates, who had been totally outmatched by a shadow clone was going to be troublesome. Having never killed before, it was going to take some getting used to. Stabbing fifty people with just a kitchen knife and shooting the rest would probably give him nightmares for a while. On the other hand, Fox had proved beyond a doubt the superiority of a Naruto style shinobi against firearm equipped adversaries. Of course, the mad clone had at least kept his mask on at all times, so any possible electronic evidence would not be traced to him. At least the clone had spent only two whole nights in a near psychopathic killing spree, followed by the robbing spree, although, the money was from criminal sources so who was he to complain? The clone had also somehow found the time to sit down and write a treatise on sealing formulas necessary to ensure structural integrity on impact by firearm ammunition. Of course, that would still take a while to complete...

Well, at least he could use the armor, once this new field of research was properly worked out. Bulletproofing himself was looking like a good idea, especially when he saw the result of the lethality of a bullet to unprotected humanity. He was really beginning to wish he had stayed here. Where was he going to find the time to do something without having to rely on clones?

XXXX

Hermione (the real one) meanwhile spent an awful lot of time in quiet contemplation, so much so that her parents actively tried to talk to her about it. She avoided it only as someone with a lot of practice could, with skill and deception. She was wondering about when her new powers were supposed to kick in. Aurora had mentioned a while, but in her terms could mean ten minute to a century. It was not that she was over eager about being able to change the universe at its base level (well, not much anyway) but in her more _grounded_ moments, she could really see the appeal of running around and doing whatever odd things that Harry could come up with. The boy wasn't quite stable, not entirely and seemed to be on a quest of some fashion. Well, she could help with that. She just had to reign in her more chaotic tendencies. And her urges to play dodge the bullet. And lets not forget her miserable childhood induced superhero fetish. Yes, it was perfectly logical. Now if only Harry wouldn't run off screaming (as he should?) when she tells him that Hermione Granger is never going to abandon Harry Potter!

XXXX

Christmas was actually quite boring. Sure there was a tree and presents and carols, but thinking about what fox had done, his mind simply could not muster the effort to pretend to be happy. Vernon was concerned, but left him alone. Reformed or not, that man would never be allowed to "help" Harry again.

His sleep was disturbed by visions of massacres, both real and imagined. But Harry tried not to shy away, for this was also a part of him he could not ignore. He wasn't quite successful though.

XXXX

Hayate looked at the disturbing reports on his desk.

One was from the captain of the _Harusame_. It was a report which basically said that they saw nothing until it was too late. That by the time the Japanese vessel had reached there area, they were only able to watch as the Dragon Boat sank into British waters. The rest of it was rubbish.

The other one was from the ninja that had gone towards London and safely met with Takeda and his men. They reported an ominous series of explosions, consistent with a cascading failure in the celestial orbs. This meant that somebody had managed to completely subvert every single one of the various detection systems and magical artifacts a vessel of that type could carry. While it certainly was impressive enough, it was not something he could admire when it was done against a ship on a mission he had set up. And something like this is normally a prelude to war, something their resident seer had no inkling of. So it was either isolated incident with no significant bearing on the future, or somebody or many somebodies had managed to circumvent the entire Japanese system, at every single level.

If it was the former, they could recover. If it was the latter, there would be no chance at all, for any of them, even without an SS class foe breathing down their necks.

Of course, if it was the latter, could they have somehow undermined their seer as well? Sorcery could do incredible things if you have knowledge, imagination and power. Was it possible that their target was actually _not there_?

Suddenly this possibility started to take hold in his mind. This next move might be risky, but could be a better use of his rather inflexible resources. If it came down to it, he would rather sacrifice his entrenched position in Britain than to risk a complete system collapse here. Whatever the cause, a coup would be terrible, successful or not. Of course, he would tell Takeda that he was likely waiting for death, but that was life for an actual ninja, dying if it was part of your orders.

And then of course, if both reports were true, there existed a mysterious foe that could stay undetected and wipe out every lifeboat that made it off that sinking ship. It looked like he had to call back most of his foreign assets for a better idea of the home front. He would even have to cooperate with the other ninja clans. What a mess...

XXXX

Horse looked at his creator with supremely concealed amusement. Learning to turn sheet plastic into vacuum formed armor was quite difficult. So it was that twenty different clones were doing various jobs that were quite new to them. Sculpting and making molds were not your average ninja skill. So actually making the plastic and combat useless armor would take a while.

On the other hand, he was learning how to use automotive paints to give his armor a better camouflage when he finally made his personalized sealing enhanced custom armor set. Well, he would once he learnt how to get the sheets into proper shape.

At least he had finally shifted from the stormtrooper helmet. The thing simply had no visibility to speak off. Neither did the others, but a scout trooper helmet certainly worked wonders for visibility. Perhaps a more personalized version, with a grill for using those pesky mouth origin wind jutsu, and a metal cage for better impact resistance, and even some helmet liner. Yes that would work best, and the rest of the armor could stay about the same, with better shoulder guards, or even pauldrons. Yes it would work nicely.

And Horse quietly sketched the ideas that his creator was spouting off, knowing that he would certainly be embarrassed to see himself drool like that. What a Christmas present that would be!

XXXX

The rest of that vacation passed simply enough. Harry worked on several things at once, and took it upon himself to learn more about ballistics. Hermione wandered about, learning and acting, having fun that had been missing in her life. Several People around the world wondered what had happened in the skies of Britain. And Department Of Mysteries department head went for more headache relief potion at the latest report on his desk. The beginning of 1993 was just one big headache all round.

XXXX

A/N:

And thats where I'll leave you for the moment. A lot of things necessary and unnecessary in this chapter, mostly for the long haul. I'm posting this without explaining everything because I'm hoping to keep the surprise. On the other hand, I will respond to PMs so if you must know, I will answer your questions.

The guns are not going to be important anytime soon, just a hint of Harry trying to explore the real world.

The ship was destroyed and a lot of unnamed OCs are dead. This is mostly to start having peripheral effects that ripple from all directions.

The metal ship will come in about a few chapters later.

The mad clone is going to have effects, which shall be unnamed and you can probably guess.

Harry's first kill, even if it was from a split personality clone. Going to expand on all the muggle connections in the next chapter.

I hoped to get a relative of Harry's mentor in, but by the time I wrote the scene, I couldn't really fit it in. so meh...

not my best chapter, and the next one may be shorter, but I hope you like it. I had to stop myself from just rambling myself so I left it like this than try for a 20k words chapter, this is about 13k as it is.

I am aiming to write a big story, and that includes elements that expand beyond Hogwarts and indeed Britain itself. As a ninja wannabe, Harry has to deal with the whole of the world, because he himself has never really considered himself just a wizard. This is an AU so don't complain about that please. I do enjoy writing like this, so any hints and suggestions that help will be greatly appreciated.

REVIEW!

REVIEW!

REVIEW!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own either Naruto or Harry Potter.

AN: I'm still Alive! More or less.

XXX

Ninja are people who give up little bits of humanity at a time until they are no better than the corpses they leave behind.

XXX

Lucius Malfoy sat in a bar, nursing a glass of firewhiskey, brooding and contemplating with a degree of concentration he had not displayed during his NEWTS. He was plainly dressed, and his hair had been tied back to a ponytail. There was no need to maintain any airs at all here. This was America, the land where a Malfoy could get drunk in public – without being on the front page for it.

Looking out at the street outside, Lucius could honestly say that he did not like this. The colonies were frankly boring. There were Shamans, and wizards to be sure, but the whole place was infested with muggles! Why couldn't he have chosen a better place to relocate to in times of need? Like Egypt or Australia? Maybe Amsterdam? But no matter. His time here was at an end. The elegant missive that had just arrived had oh so graciously invited him to return safely, because, "The problem has been removed."

What did that mean? Was the terrible monster that Takeda had spoken of with fear tempered by awe destroyed? Or was it that his use had finally been ended and needing to dispose of a Malfoy, they were calling him to them?

He didn't think so, but the Dark Lord had driven some very harsh lessons into his skull. And the most significant one was that those who are useless die. And to an organization like Hakumei, any wizard at all was useless. On the other hand, said organization could just as easily behead him right where he was sitting, in the lap of anonymity.

At least the rest of his family was enjoying it. Narcissa had relished the chance to get out of that stuffy manor and actually have fun. She disappeared for hours on end and came back giggling like a little girl. Pureblood male chauvinist or not, some things you just did not want to know. The muggle city nearby was a possible cause, but at the end of the day, he really didn't care what she did in her free time. Unless it landed him in trouble that is.

Draco on the other hand seemed to be smiling a lot for some reason. It seemed that Hogwarts just did not agree with the boy. Sure, he knew that the whole of Slytherin belonged to the Malfoy heir, but something about the school seemed to make Draco bristle. But he wasn't going to interfere there. Draco would have to learn how to deal with whatever irritated him. Adapt or eliminate, that was how he himself had left his mark on the world all those years ago, when Lucius Malfoy was a more naive eleven year old.

Lucius did hope that it wasn't all those tales about Dumbledore that did it. It would be really something if his son was this way because he didn't like the Dumbledore Lucius had described.

In any case, since the "crisis" was over, he'd go back. Severus would have to remain ignorant for a while. He had no intention of passing along any directly relevant news until the creepy assassins were far far away. From Britain that is.

At any rate, it was at least three days till Draco needed to show up at Hogwarts. And today was as good a day as any to return to the mess that was the wizarding world. Who cared that he was partly responsible for that mess?

XXX

Harry packed away his things into sealing scrolls. He had a lot of things to do, and an unknown amount of time to do it. The happenings of Christmas Eve had left him with a vague feeling of dread. There was no rest for him and he was pushing himself, maintaining forty at a time, absorbing the headache as each one dispersed and another was created. Even then, water clones were drafted to do hard labor. Seals were tested, duties were done. Clones fought grimly, testing the shared combat potential of each of them.

Despite his own feelings on the matter, Harry had gone ahead and painted his scout armor in a dark three tone forest camouflage. Both sides of the plastic had been covered with a near solid mass of lines and kanji, representing the progress that had been accomplished with regard to the neutralization of inbound kinetic energy. It couldn't stop a bullet yet, but it was good for falling from a height or blunt force trauma. The whole thing was then covered with a slightly altered automotive clear coat, providing protection without the annoying gloss. Each individual piece was connected by a harness that was recycled from mountain climbing gear instead of the old Velcro.

Helmet liner and padding kept the ensemble comfortable. The bottom half of a cut down coat wound around the waist, held up by the belt, and open to the front, a creation whose main purpose was to cover his rear and thighs from behind, and provide extra concealment to his legs, by breaking up lines, especially with all the camouflage. This would be needed mostly once his swords were in his hands. At least that's what he told himself. Sometimes things just looked cooler that way, and he didn't want a cape.

Also going with him was weaponry Fox had salvaged forty handguns, lots of ammunition, and his own "inherited" Walther P38. With this came an assortment of knives and odd things he thought he might need, like lots of sheet plastic (if The Come and Go room proved as useful as he desired, there were... possibilities), couple of medical books, some books on physics, and other things that he was curious about. The big book of swords, he left at home. He was more interested in other things for the moment.

XXX

The train station was as noisy as ever. Platform 9 ¾ however was fairly less crowded as there were less people that at the start of the year. Nonetheless, with all the reluctance and foot dragging that was in the atmosphere, reaching an empty compartment was quite difficult. In any case, Harry had not been seated for five minutes before his associate appeared in a whirlwind of action, scattering students and luggage like feathers in a hurricane. But for some ominous reason, she was quiet, eerily so in fact. However, having a lot of things to do meant that Harry used the time in reading five books at once.

The roaming clones were in his new costume/battle armor. Though, the Akatsuki cloak rendered much of the armor's intimidation factor void. Then again, being invisible reduced any possible impact to absolutely zero.

XXX

The train moved slowly at first, then began to pick up speed. People both outside and inside gave their final goodbyes of the day, and there were even people who, in an eerie parody of the start of the year, got on the train _after_ it started moving. In other words it was pretty normal.

Some people though, were not quite in a "normal" state. Other than the obvious cases like Harry and Hermione, there were also people like Draco Malfoy, who was still failing to make sense of all his Father's actions in these past holidays. Or Susan Bones who, along with many others across the country wondered why the ministry was in uproar over something, something that the Daily Prophet had no inkling about.

But, seeing as he was going to be using it anyway, he decided to get into his armor. After all, to put it in storage after all that effort was just criminal. Especially since he had managed to turn paper thin (and about just as strong) HIPS sheets into strong and reliable armor. Yes, he liked the word armor, a lot.

He unsealed and donned the armor, unintentionally giving Hermione a show she cared nothing for. Two minutes and some nifty chakra puppetry had suitably tugged and tightened every strap and belt. The armor harness and armor itself was secure. Now all that was left was his weapons, few as they were.

A Glock 17 and three extra clips went into one of the pouches that scout troopers had on the waist. Although, they were more hidden as the lines were broken by his camouflage pattern. A total of twelve individual knives slid into a myriad of holsters and recesses he had built into the armor. His helmet was secured and its faceplate slammed shut. More puppetry slid metal clamps into place, making taking off the helmet a considerably difficult task. Armor secured, he sat down in his seat, taking out a book on anatomy, seeking new places his weapons could hit to kill somebody. _There is no end to learning, no useless knowledge._

XXX

The day of Christmas 1992 was a rather chaotic day. It's not every day that the Ministry had to deal with ship to ship battles in the air, especially ones that, if but for an instant, managed to be visible to every idiot with open eyes on either side of the channel. Some had even managed to take pictures. The conflicting reports given by the various government agencies who fancied themselves responsible did not help at all. The event managed to hit the news, and all the Ministry of Magic could do was to rewrite the memories in such a way as to make it seem like a hoax. Or at least, reduce the number of people who believed it to be true. Retractions of eye witness statements were at an all time high for such a high profile event. And much like all the other mysteries of the world, the "Channel Flying Dutchman" was soon relegated to the realm of conspiracy theorists and the partially insane.

That however did not mean that the magical end had finished with it too. For unlike the muggles, the Department of Mysteries, as well as several broom riders had managed to salvage several pensive memories worth of footage, of flying ships and boats, and the eventual shoot out that took place over international waters. It was a very disturbing sight. Even with two wars against dark lords in recent memory, a full scale organized battle, with standardized troops and equipment (funny how they wrangled that out of the very disturbing sight of a sailing ship performing the naval equivalent of Whack a Mole) was very much out of the comprehension range of the average pureblood. It took one some of the few muggleborn from the DoM to straighten out their pureblood brethren, who were understandably ignorant with regards to ships, firearms, or Star Wars.

On the other hand, there were people who noted that at least one of the escaping craft from Ship A did not head towards the channel, but instead, headed towards central London, where Diagon and more importantly the Ministry itself were located. A joke by somebody that maybe it was an assassination plot against Fudge was enough to send the rotund minister into panic. DMLE was tasked with finding out the "persons unknown suspected to be plotting against the Ministry of Magic and the demise of The Minister himself". Needless to say, lots of people were miffed at having their Christmas interrupted right after lunch. Especially to do a task nobody had the tiniest idea about how to go about doing.

Department of Mysteries had confiscated most of the evidence and memories for study, so the DMLE was left with verbal testimonies, which did not include the descriptions of exactly what they were supposed to be searching for. To be fair, neither did the DoM, but that was no help at all.

The other departments were in even more chaos. A full recall of _all_ personnel followed by not giving anybody instructions meant that all departments save the one dealing with Centaur relations were in absolute chaos.

That was not to say that everyone was running around like headless chickens. Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimengour were personally scouring London in a bid to find traces of what had happened there. Whatever ward had hidden Ship A had been disrupted with the first explosions, and the London bound craft had managed to reacquire the invisible to everything effect not too far away from the ship. They had sent an owl to Albus, something the Minister seemed to have forgotten to do, in the hope of pooling their efforts and making some headway.

Unfortunately, it seemed that for once, Albus had less information than them. It was an unusual situation to say the least. On the other hand, the sight of Dumbledore frowning, a rare sight indeed, did far more to panic two of the most influential agents of Wizarding power than the idea of a group of individuals of some power who may or may not have assassinating the minister as one of their goals.

Albus Dumbledore was quite fed up with having foreign nationals traipsing about the country he represented internationally and more to the point lived in. So he called together an international meeting that basically asked everyone to please leave the English alone. This in turn panicked a whole different set of people who had just enough intelligence to read between the lines but not enough to figure out how to deal with it. With the diplomatic equivalent of an annoyed yell, the wider western magical community was thrown into organized chaos.

London itself had been thrown into a tizzy. Aurors were searching every corner of London, sweeping the streets and alleys for unusual wards and magical traces. They were quite unsuccessful in catching any of their unknown targets. They were however able to solve twelve very troublesome unsolved cases, sending fifteen men and women to Azkaban and having four of them kissed by the end of the year. But the objective of the hunt remained unfulfilled.

XXX

Wizards weren't the only ones to have headaches that Christmas, and neither was the Channel Flying Dutchman the only big news. The "Christmas day massacre" was also a very newsworthy item, especially when violence of the scale was previously unknown, at least to the general public. Scotland Yard poured over the evidence gathered, which painted a rather grim picture. Two entire groups, who for whatever reason had been working together, had been brutally slaughtered.

The operation had been quick and brutal. The first fifty or so deaths were by stab wounds from a large kitchen knife. The victims had been defending themselves and had been cut down by knife wounds to vital areas. The killers had a marked preference for the neck and heart, and were seemingly content to leave the fatally wounded men to bleed to death, as the seemingly slow, unhurried and bloody footprints attested to. Or even the bloodstained walls that had silhouettes of people leaning against them, waiting for the arterial spray to stop before moving to the next hallway.

The victims themselves were untrained thugs and were not the best of shots, but this was ridiculous. Several different calibers had been noted to be fired, including 9mm, 10mm auto, .45 ACP, .40 S&W, .44 Magnum and .357 Magnum. After many had died though, the killers had run into more defended areas of the building, with steel doors and tables to provide cover. At this point, they had begun using the weapons previously fired at them, although, seeming to prefer just the 9mm to kill the remaining men. With this, the attackers had managed to kill men wielding sub machine guns and shotguns. Only god knew what kind of villains now threatened the peace of their great country.

The place had been thoroughly emptied of anything useful, but the casings and the evidence had been untouched, as if this was a calling card or a challenge to the authorities. Money, paperwork and even clothing had been taken. But a few million pounds worth of drugs had not, neither had the alcohol or the vehicles. It was a mystery to be sure. Some investigators theorized that it was some sort of operation to recover some valuable item the gangs had been in possession of. Others believed that it was a message to whoever had been backing the drug operation. A third theory was that it was some kind of demonstration of skill. Whatever the case, lots of people were losing sleep. The fact that the very valuable drugs had not been taken was not helping. The not taking of drugs was putting some serious holes in the popular suspects.

Every round fired had their casings accounted for, except for about twenty or so revolver fired ones. The entire structure however was free of the weapons themselves. The killers were quick and used identical bladed weapons. None of the victims were restrained in any manner and were in the process of defending themselves with the missing firearms when they were stabbed at close range. Some of the wounds were by thrown knives, based on the wounds and their positions. They used footwear identical in size and tread pattern, left no fingerprints and did not use any of the by then blood covered exits. It was a frightening scenario; a team of highly skilled soldiers who brought knives to a gun fight…and won. It was like the plot of a bad Hollywood action film. And then the government started breathing down their necks.

XXX

Hogwarts itself proved insulated to the strange happenings of the outside world and went on by its usual pace. But things always change.

Harry stopped being paranoid and cut down his shadow clone usage to just the immediate area. Hermione seemed to be regaining tact and was less brazen in her efforts to be entertained. The first feast after Christmas proved that when Harry did not feel like a frog on a dissection table throughout the meal. It seemed the random girl had finally found other things to do, at least for a little while.

Harry found that he was going to need to slow down. His body was in peak physical condition at the moment and only puberty could change his body now. He was already the tallest in class, but knowing what his adult form looked like from that experiment with the aging potion, he couldn't wait to be back in that body, permanently.

On the other hand, having less to do with his real body meant he was now spending a lot of time with his peers. Being a Ravenclaw, most just assumed he had finally burnt out and needed a break. Human beings are not built to handle learning day after day for months on end. Most first years hit that limit in a few weeks. And afterwards, they learnt mostly in the privacy of their dorms or common room. Outside, they became more approachable, especially by other houses. It was something that happened year after year.

With more free time, Harry took the time to physically talk to people, feeling the need to at least interact with people who were not mentally identical energy constructs. Talking to yourself was all well and good until you realized that you had differences in opinion with yourself.

He discovered that the people around him had their own areas of expertise, even if they weren't meant for killing anybody. Some could sing. Some could dance. Some were avid puzzle solvers. Some played chess. Each houses had different people, and they were all unique individuals who had their own stories. The muggleborn especially were not from a perfect world. Not everyone was a well adjusted model citizen after all. It was fun and rewarding to connect with people. And Harry was not so heartless as to close off his soul from the people around him.

It started slowly of course. He began to talk to the students in his own year, not ignoring them with that 'somewhere else' look on his face. And he made small talk like all the other people did. For entire stretches of time, he practiced his ability to socialize. And after so long a time without it, he was socializing. After Hermione, he was extremely happy to interact with normal people. Perhaps because of her, he started his efforts to reach out with the most unlikely person to ever start anything with.

He reached out to Neville Longbottom.

And he did it because they were both at a similar level with regards to the social ladder of first year. They were on the fringes, even more so than the most stereotypical Ravenclaw. Apparently, a Boy-Who-Lived who spent his time reading was too disappointing to even bother talking about. His planned slide to obscurity had, for the moment at least, succeeded a bit too well. He had reached the bottom of the Hogwarts pyramid and was now absolutely out off allies and associates. So he had sought out a person who had the most potential out of his year mates. A potential he could cultivate, helping both them and him in time.

He considered many people who had diverse backgrounds and limitations. Eventually he chose someone he could see a disturbingly buried potential in. much like his own school days, Neville seemed content to wrap himself in obscurity, letting everyone surge ahead in their grades while he only bothered with Herbology. Harry would have been suspicious, except that Neville lacked a controlled obliviousness in his actions. No, this was entirely subconscious. It was only when he had begun to look for this sort of thing that he had noticed the hidden depths. Unconsciously clenching fists, tightening of muscles in his arms, and the curiously wizard specific "wand twitch" where the hand automatically turns to a grip, without the wand being present. And Harry knew that only he and maybe that Japanese spy could have understood, just what demons lurked within the Longbottom, waiting to be unleashed.

That is not to say he had not talked to others first. No, he definitely wasn't going to emulate his tragically hyper acquaintance by latching on to the first person that intrigued him. He had taken the time to talk with a surprised Hogwarts first year. Herbology had been spent helping his "peers" and in hallways, he took the time to speak to those he hadn't. Spy networks were nice, but they really didn't substitute for real conversation, where you had some control over what people talked about.

It was galling to realize that even if he could kill or subdue any of these people in a myriad of ways, he was still lagging in conversing with people his own age. Hermione hadn't helped. He could act as cultured and refined as a royal or as straightforward as a bar brawler, but speaking to kids his own age simply eluded him. It was perhaps fortunate, that Ravenclaws were stereotyped as having low social interaction skills.

Still, he had learnt a lot more about his classmates. Like the fact that the most common complaint among the muggleborn were not a lack of television, but telephones. Or that certain Slytherins were very knowledgeable about his Gringotts account. Or that Ron Weasleys father had managed to permanently enchant a Ford Angelina into a flying car. Or that Justin Finch-Fletchley, was simply put loaded. And all the while, Hermione continued to be absent.

Neville Longbottom was not much to look at but he was rather friendly. Some may have called him pathetic, but Harry was of a different mind. He knew that once puberty hit, all that baby fat would disappear, and Neville would prove to be quite a different person. And Harry was quite fascinated by the young mans ridiculous affinity with plants. While everyone else had found such a talent useless, Harry was far more open minded. He only needed to think about the First Hokage and he was curious about this seemingly magical ability to grow and nurture life. There was also an aura of loneliness that seemed to emanate off the boy, a loneliness that Harry had far too much experience in himself. Of course, this loneliness was overshadowed by the repressed irritation the boy gave off. Simply watching the play of muscles on his arms when somebody made fun of Neville was interesting enough. That boy had a hell of a lot of repressed issues, and all subconscious by the look of it. But Harry knew that Neville would be fine. Because once you work through your problems, the only way left is up.

Corrupting the tragic hero. Yes, Neville Longbottom was going to find that life can be full of surprises. And while Harry didn't know if and how their parents had known each other, he was not going to let such untapped potential go to waste. The Longbottom name was still worth something, and Harry was very willing to ally himself publicly with its latest heir. And if they became friends along the way, it was so much the better.

XXX

Harry was sitting on top of the tower. The moon shone down in the darkness, lighting up the castle and the forbidden forest in a spine tingling manner. He felt anticipation and longing. A desire to explore and discover the secrets of that forest. What mysteries would he uncover? What tales lay, waiting to be told in the crypt like silence and unnatural stillness of the woods? What manner of men had journeyed before him, and been lost to the world ever since?

The forbidden forest was no small patch of woodland. It was a maze and a trap, designed to both sustain and imprison its denizens. An illusion even more massive than the one that kept Hogwarts from muggle eyes kept the forest from magical eyes. There was energy that hung over the place. This was a lake of nature chakra, and it called to him whenever he looked at the forest. No illusion hid the grandeur of millennia of growth. There was no doubt that this forest was a relic of ages past, more magnificent than ever.

"One day", he promised himself. "One day, I shall venture forth and discover the roots of that place... And perhaps others shall join me"

XXX

Professor Quirrel, DADA professor and willing host to Lord Voldemort, lay wracked in pain in his quarters. The moans of pain went unheard from outside the warded room. He lay on his side, because the Dark Lord was not one to let his face be smothered into a pillow, no matter whether he could breathe or not. Not that he had slept at all after the two met.

"Ma-Master! The- rej-AAAAH!- rejection is getting worse!"

An agony no potion could cure, Quirrel was being torn apart from the inside out, and feeling every tiny bit of it. It was a good thing that he only experienced it at night, a time that he was not exposed. The tiny sips of unicorn blood forcefully taken, was too little to compensate for the negative effects of the rejection of the union between parasite and host. Not to mention that the blood, from a Knockturn dealer that ventured into the forbidden forest, cost a great deal of galleons that had nearly depleted his cache from Albania. Relying on that man was foolhardy at the best of times.

The Dark Lord on the other hand was patently unsympathetic. He was experiencing an equal amount of pain and he was hardly inconvenienced. His dark rituals, that had painstakingly shaved away slivers of his damnable humanity, inch by miserable inch, had been far more painful. Nevertheless, it was time to use his backup plan. Dumbledore's defenses were far too annoying when he was at a fraction of his power. Trapped in a body not his own, he had to wring out every bit of utility he could if he wanted to succeed. It was truthfully more aggravating than when he had been turned into a formless wisp of spirit.

"Quirrel... the Unicorn Blood...you know what must be done"

Even under the prospect of agony and with his mind twisted by the presence of Voldemort, Quirinus hesitated for an instant before he bent his masters will. Still, it took an effort to master his words to some semblance of normality. He would have to ignore the pain for now.

"It shall be done."

And then he took his cloak, schooled his face and departed to the forbidden forest, limping at times when the pain was too much. That night, the first of the unicorns were killed. The only option they had was the mass consumption of unicorn blood. And then Lord Voldemort turned his mind to even more risky moves he could make.

First the hound, and then the rest of those "traps" would fall. Immortality would be his!

XXX

Harry looked around the room of requirement. Once again, it was in the "Hall of Blades" that Hermione had used to demonstrate how to use weapons. And once again, he was looking at the various weapons there were. Despite his desire for the straight and long, he was finding that with his current choice of "working clothes" he wouldn't have much space to store them. Not to mention, dual wielding and elemental manipulation was not something he was fully proficient in. so it looked like his best bet was to either compile a seal formula for developing wind chakra along a blade edge or mastering his wind affinity till its use was unconscious. Unfortunately, his ability in the cutting aspect of wind, while considerable progressed way too slowly for him to use it in a battle ready condition anytime soon. Cutting leaves? Done. Covering kunai in a lethal envelope? Easy? Doing the same to a sword? Work in progress.

So for the moment, he was trying out other blades. Clones were trying out basic stances in a variety of weapons, testing not only his adaptability to unfamiliar weapons, but his ability to use them as weapons. The only problem was that he was really bad at it. He was for the moment better at knives, considering his body and experience. The original took a pair of Chinese broadswords, also called Dao and spoke up.

"Ok guys, lets begin!"

Instantly, everyone stopped everything else and charged him with their current weapons. And Harry grimly began to fight back.

Fighting multiple opponents simultaneously is very different from fighting one on one. For one thing, your mind is forced to consider the actions of many people at the same time as it is busy fighting. Inexperienced fighters can be quickly overwhelmed from the sheer mass of information they need to possess. At the same time, you also have to be focused on the here and now. On the other hand, very few people can engage a single person at a time, simply because there's only that much space to fight a person with, especially if others are also trying to use that space. With coordination, a group of people can take out a single person with minimum strain on the individual.

Harry's clones were somewhat equal to Harry. Their attacking ability is equal to his, their mental aspects were almost equal to his (with a small reminder that they are expendable and that they are subordinate to his will) but their survival on injury ability was nonexistent. They might take scratches and falls, but a direct hit that could stun the original would disperse the clone. Any impact or skin penetration that might discomfort the original would disperse the clone. As a result clone tactics placed a higher emphasis on evasion as opposed to blocking. But they were an extremely well coordinated force, operating with a synchronization that most people could not imagine, never mind achieve. And with the fact that their memories returned to the original, each new "generation" of clones were that much more effective as a team. And his practice of assigning tasks to his clones had even given him, and consequently them the ability to operate in squads of various numbers.

So, this fight was not actually one in which Harry systematically destroyed his clones. Rather, he was facing himself with many weapons. And his saving grace was that most of his clones were less used to their weapons than he was with his pair of Dao. Of course, even with the clones gone, everyone still needed to deal with the weapons that were left behind and littering the floor. It was a complicated dance that didn't seem to end. And every now and then, a clone would manage to strike him, sometimes almost running vital organs through. So as the fight continued, Harry had been stabbed multiple times and his clothes were being disintegrated. Still, his ability to deal with damage was being tested, even if the clones wouldn't complete a kill strike.

Another factor in the fight was that each clone dispersed their memories to everyone else. Thus each dispersed clone sent a dizzying wave of memories to the others, distracting them and making them lose focus. Still, their fighting was improving and with each clones memories, Harry improved a tiny bit. A single training session like this increased his combat ability immensely. Of course, he couldn't do them all the time. Even if he was the last one standing, he still had to spend energy healing and then spend more time recovering from the fatigue and the chakra drain.

This session however involved Harry fighting a variety of weapons. The clones used hit and run tactics, using their coordination to prevent as many losses from each wave as possible. But still, Harry was gaining an insight from each kill, both from how he was able to use it and from what the clones concluded from their observations. It was a quick and dangerous method of learning the weapons he had chosen, especially since his clones were trying for almost lethal strikes. Simple need pushed him to proficiency in weapon usage. Unfortunately, this was not something applicable to elemental manipulation.

In the end, the skirmish ended. Harry was still standing, but he was bleeding from multiple cuts and his clothing was nearly in shreds. It was a very good thing that his small repertoire of spells included the simple but effective _Reparo_. Still, he was injured and by conventional standards he should be dying. However, his natural healing factor tended to keep him up and running even with three broken ribs and both lungs punctured. He might not be a hundred percent, but he would be _functional_ until he could heal himself. He decided though, to keep a low profile. He would let sleep do its job as it had done all those years ago. Still, he whipped his head about when he sensed something unusual.

"Hullo Harry!"

Harry looked around automatically and was rewarded with the sight of a near naked Hermione with bat wings, horns and tail. His hands went slack. There was only one possible explanation.

"_Aurora_", he deadpanned, and once assured it was not a hallucination promptly turned around.

"Don't be like that Harry! We have so much _fu~nnn_ together!" the stress on fun was far too ominous for him to take and he began replacing the weapons on the wall in a quick but methodical manner.

"Harry! Don't ignore me!"

Upside down, pouting, near naked Hermione...

"Fine! And I had this great idea for your ninja stuff too!"

Harry was interested, but didn't show it. He knew that as something not exactly human, the priorities of the mad duo were different. They also seemed to think in bizarre and sometimes weirdly intuitive ways that did not seem to match human logic. So he turned around and as blandly as spoke he could, which is a great deal blander than most can _imagine_.

"You got me. I'm listening"

"Really? Ok, its like this. Remember how this is the Room of Requirement? What if you required that you wanted the rest of that storybook you liked to read so much?"

Harry of course, was not too ready to acknowledge that something like this was possible. It was _magic_ after all.

"Oh sure! Like all I have to do is say I want the whole collection of Naruto manga and I want it ri...ght... he...re... hmmmm. That was unexpected."

Indeed, about two feet away from him in the direction he was pointing was a stack of yellowing books. There was no mistaking the dimensions or the font or even the cover page on the thing. It was a set of his beloved, if rarely taken out manga. And it looked a great deal bigger than his last set.

Of course, he was far too set into his own training to suddenly be able to switch for new paths. Then again, nobody said that he couldn't get some ideas...

He shook himself out of his thoughts to see Aurora still exactly as he left her, still grinning.

"You owe me Harry!" and she vanished into the walls. Harry quickly got a clone to pick up the stack and try to head out of the room, with the stack. If it was an actual item, he would be able to carry it out. If not, it would disappear. A few seconds later, the clone was back, with a frown, and the books. It had disappeared. Harry slowly matched his clone's expression. He would have to read it here then, not really a problem. Shadow clones could use the room as well.

XXX

It wasn't long after school reopened that Hagrid quickly reported the lost unicorn, a creature of such purity that it would take a considerably dark and malicious entity to harm, let alone kill one. And whoever had done it had viciously slaughtered the beast, ripping open the magically resistant hide and splattering blood everywhere, the likely objective. And to forcibly extract or harvest any part of the pure light creature was to curse it forever, be it horn, blood or even hair. The fact that it was so close to the school was not lost to the headmaster, and neither were the implications of just why somebody would consider taking unicorn blood. A person who imbibed unicorn blood would be able to survive even if at deaths door, but it was not without its own price. The very act of consuming the ill gotten and consequently vile blood of the pure creature cursed you. And although many people were not aware of just what that meant, Dumbledore was.

Breakdown.

Breakdown of body, breakdown of magic, breakdown of sanity. The victim, or in this case criminal would degrade at the cellular and metaphysical level. And the only way to recover from the damage was to further consume the vile fluid. And the need would grow and its ability to stave of the breakdown would become less and less, until all that was left was a magicless, insane husk of a human that could not move and could not be killed by mortal means, much like an inferi. Except that eventually, the body itself would slowly dissolve into nothingness. And the most horrifying part of the process is the fact that forcibly taken unicorn blood cannot be unwillingly drunk. Only a desperate and foolish soul might even consider such a thing, to willingly subject themselves to the unicorn blood curse, even if they were not aware that it was so terrible that it made the unforgivables look tame.

Of course, the miracles of blood willingly given are not something even Dumbledore knew about, save that it was said to have immense powers that were the ultimate expression of purity and the light.

But the issue here was not the blood, but _who_. It wasn't a leap of faith to assume that they had a plan to obtain the philosophers stone, because only such a thing could provide true immortality, a way of staving off the breakdown, perhaps forever. And the reason for that was simple. Alchemy, the art that spawned the innocent looking rock was an entirely different form of magic, one that did not obey the rules of "wizarding" magic, the rules of which unicorns came under. If they succeeded, it would be like having a person who could not swim on the sinking ship getting saved by the broom. If it stopped working, he would still fall into sea and drown, but until then, he was safe. And that was to say nothing of the dark arts that could undo even that damage, at cost.

Of course, following that train of thought, there were few people who could possibly aware of the fact that the elixir of life could theoretically stave off the effects of a unicorn blood curse. Voldemort was unfortunately one of them, having long ago stolen enough alchemy books in his quest for immortality to notice that fact. And considering that Voldemort was a spirit and would not be affected by a unicorn blood curse, it was pretty much all but confirmed that Voldemort had an ally or servant who was hosting the currently pathetic dark lord. Quirrel unfortunately seemed to be the likely suspect. And there was very little that would actually exonerate the man if you considered Dumbledore's intellect and knowledge. But the headmaster could not act against him either. The man had yet to commit an actual and obvious crime. And serving dark lords thought long dead or killing unicorns without leaving any implicating evidence was not considered a valid reason to terminate the DADA teacher. So as unfortunate as it seemed, the only strategy Dumbledore could follow was let the man fail to get the stone and die in his attempt. With the way the magical world was currently, Dumbledore could not afford to be softhearted in his own backyard, not when a headache was imminent at every juncture. Supreme Mugwump...it was a most bothersome responsibility.

XXX

Harry put down his new books with a great deal of satisfaction.

Naruto...

Had it been so long since he had been cowering inside a tiny cupboard, reading in the dead of the night, all the while trying his utmost not to make the paper crinkle? And here he was now, learning the skills of his parents while hiding his own in plain sight. A journey beyond mere words and he was still on it.

The latest additions to his Naruto information were not unwelcome. Honestly, after seeing a slice of the real world, he no longer overly sympathized with one person or the other. He was far more interested in the skills and the jutsu used, and also the tactics used in a war that seemed to be all in the head of...someone. At the moment, the one set of techniques he wanted to emulate was space time ninjutsu. Harry was not stupid. The first few hundred chapters had nothing on the deluge of info that a great shinobi war against the masked guy covered. Between the techniques of the dead, and the not dead, he had no doubt that his next two hundred years could easily be filled with research and training. But he also knew that he was far more advanced than an eleven year old ninja had any right to be. Kakashi, Itachi, Minato, the list of child prodigies was enormous. None of them had the arsenal and power that he could claim at eleven. Even a book could tell him that. Simply his shadow clone and genjutsu usage made him, if nothing else, a very annoying foe. And he also had ninjitsu and fuuinjutsu to back him up.

Of course, the problem was, just when you figured out how good you have it, something happens to disturb that nice state of bliss. He just had to figure out where it was going to go wrong and hopefully ride it out without dying too soon.

Where did this sudden acknowledgment of mortality come from you ask? Ironically, it probably had something to do with the fact that somebody finally established numbers for the whole Naruto universe. The allied shinobi army was 80,000 strong. The enemy had 100,000 Zetsu clones and a plethora of dead and live A to S class ninja. And so he got thinking.

Everyone dies. Peace is a prelude to war. If you have skill, somebody is going to wind up testing it.

And also, what were the numbers for the wizarding world, an _armed _society if ever there was one? How many S class combatants lurked around here, like Voldemort or Dumbledore? Who else in this often twisted realm possessed such power, quite literally in the palm of their hand? It made you wonder.

XXX

The Dark Lord Voldemort grinned. It was a decidedly unpleasant expression, especially for the back of somebody's head. The unicorn hunts had been a staggering success. The fresh blood had been a supremely powerful substance and Quirrel was still alive, for a while longer. It was time to move forward, and he knew exactly how to strike. Half a century ago, Reubus Hagrid was his scapegoat for the Chamber of Secrets. A half dim half breed who was a delightfully manipulated pawn. And it was the groundkeeper's time to act in this play, the role of the gullible idiot. Quirrel had access to some black market dealers. It was simple enough to procure a rare and dangerous beast to loosen those lips. And once the Cerberus was gone, he would be able move forward with his own experience in magic and the dark arts. Of that, he was certain. And what he had was more than up to the task. It was a dragon egg, a Norwegian ridgeback. Such a perfect little beast….

XXX

Outside Hogwarts, things were dire. Hakumei London based operatives were getting antsy in their idleness. With the loss of contact with the mainland, there was nothing to do. Not that it was uncommon. Both Ninja and sorcerers of Chinese and Japanese nationality were basically marooned on their respective locations. It was a basic precaution. Limit the wars to the countries at war. Do not operate in nations outside realm of conflict. Maintain secrecy. Resolve conflict speedily and decisively.

They were ideas their people died by. To avoid wasting resources in pointless aggressive action, because needless expansion would destabilize your own territory. For all their power and military capability, all these nations were most powerful on home turf. Both Japan and China were in a sense both divided and united. Everyone was happy with the status quo. And a complex system of give and take kept internal politics peaceful and harmonious. It was a quirk of a nation populated by scholars; they preferred their own land, where they could experiment in peace. Having a monarch meant you needn't bother with fighting either, other than any conscription and voluntary service. There was a reason that China, with its invincible battle mage armies did not practice conquest, unlike the non magical side, which was perfectly agreeable to gaining power in that manner.

Part of the reason that China kept to its borders was knowledge. Chinese sorcerers tended to be long lived storehouses of knowledge who looked down on those who sought violence and power. What they had, was what they considered true power. Knowledge was priceless, and the having knowledge and ability, having impossible ways to do impossible things; that was what it meant to be a sorcerer. In a way, they matched a certain stereotype that said that magic users were white bearded fellows who sat in their towers and kept to themselves. They had no use for money, human interaction and material things. Well, the wise ones didn't. And much the same was true of the Japanese sorcerers.

However, any bureaucracy was filled with young ambitious fools who knew too much and too little. What was the use of conquering Japan/China anyway? It was better to leave them alone. Plotting against each other was pointless and the wise knew it. So the wise developed a System. Each time a war was declared, there were rules. No direct combat, _mano e man__o,_ as some might say, was permitted. Instead pitched battles were fought at range by a fixed number of people, in designated areas that allowed the participants to show their capability at honorable slaughter. And then there were ships and engines and other weapons, all restricted in number and quality and played like a game of chess, or a tabletop war game. Outside interference was not permitted. No bombardment of territory was permitted. And the rules were enforced by the sky, the sea and the land. When one side was exhausted and unable to continue, you had a victor. It meant that at the end of the war, enough useful people were still alive, the governments were still running and except for a few treaties that said that X party will deliver to Y amount of Z thing, life went on. To the long memories of both nations, unrestricted warfare just resulted in lots and lots of dead. Sorcerers might be battlefield nightmares, but even they had to sleep, and Ninja had long blades and longer reaches. The last breach in this agreement had not been pretty. Neither were the penalties imposed by a furious set of really old people who had purpose.

Unfortunately, the same system that kept things going well shut out anyone who was outside at a time of conflict, maybe for decades if you were unfortunate. It was a quarantine that isolated the warring states. Even as huge yet invisible explosions battered the skies of the East China Sea, Yellow Sea and the Sea of Japan, many agents of both countries were stranded; their duty paused as their higher ups decided who the victor in their seemingly petty squabbles was. Still until their communication lines were restored, they had to officially do nothing. Whether it was the bald Japanese fellow in Mogadishu, or the one legged Chinese man in Amsterdam, they were all stuck. Most however had duties that were not dependant on constant over watch by headquarters. Tetsuya was one of them. As a long term operative, he was supposed to continue in the passive aspects of his mission. However, the massive support system that was previously available was now simply nonexistent. This meant that weapons, medical care, gear and even underwear were now on their own dime. With war, hidden and unseen as it was, all accounts were frozen which meant many, many things when you're in some blighted land without anything to do.

Not that it stopped anyone. With nothing to do, the ninja in London took the time to scout and map out London, its magic, its mafia, and its muggles. Know thy enemy, was something the super powered secret agents could appreciate. Also important were knowledge of the military, the investigation of their vessels remains and the procurement of supplies. You couldn't march into the middle of a supermarket and buy what they needed without courting trouble. They didn't have papers for one thing, and it wasn't in anybody's plan to be marooned on some faraway island without supplies. And Britain was crawling with spooked Aurors. For a while even the magical side was unsafe. Thankfully, the Hogwarts squad could hold out for a while.

XXX

Jeremy Wilkinson pored over the files at his desk with a vengeance. Drug battles of this scale were rare and usually less mystifying. The follow up violence from the slaughter had left another fity dead as everyone dabbling in organized crime began to make noise over the event. Just one week to put more than a hundred low and mid level criminals into body bags from violent death. The lack of intelligence regarding the inner workings of the underworld meant that the law had no idea how to respond or even who to blame. Their limited sources had only painted a grim picture. A few more sparks and they would have a minor civil war on their hands. There were even some who would prefer that the investigation not uncover anything, because a definite perpetrator would just be a reason to start something.

Not that there were any clear evidence to pointing at anyone. There was no sign at all of an attacker. There was no DNA no fibers no nothing. It was as if a ghost had taken solid form and began to slaughter them all. The foot prints suggested the perpetrators were identical in external equipment and profile. The idea that it was just one person was beyond ridiculous. They were already looking at anyone with military background and mercenaries. Having equipment with a price tag having many zeroes seems kind of useless now…

XXX

In a well lit room at the top of a skyscraper, an oddly dressed man sat at his desk, staring over steepled fingers at the person before him. Wearing a suit and with neatly combed black hair, he was the very picture of a businessman.

"That didn't work out too well did it?"

The woman in front, dressed in a red cheongsam grimly shook her head.

"No it did not, sir"

The man appeared to not notice the tension.

"So we'll have to try again some other way. That seer had her uses, but now it's impossible to use her again. Still, an S class demon in Britain of all places. What an inopportune element."

The woman nodded. "But sir, shouldn't it have done something already? The classification doesn't lie, and neither did the sensors. The ship detected the same signature that I fed into it. Our lie seems to have been the truth all along."

The man sighed and stretched his arms. He drummed his fingers on the desk, seemingly in deep thought.

"It may be strange, but in the darkest night are the brightest stars. As soon as the war finishes we may have to move into that backyard. It would be inconvenient to our goals if a portion of the planet were to vaporize just like that."

The woman froze.

"Surely you are not…? We still have to finish those ships, and _he_ can only hold off the Imperial Court for so long"

"Patience my dear Hornet, we have time, more than a couple of years, if you recall. All we have to do, is get rid of those pesky Ninja. We may have failed at avoiding direct warfare, but never fear, there are more ways than one to the destination, and we have merely met a dead end." As his chair swivelled around, the man looked at the Chinese sunrise and grinned. Yes, plenty of ways to reach a goal.

XXX

A/N: And that s the next chapter. Having forgotten my story, having lost my notes, I despaired that this chapter would remain at 4k words for the rest of eternity. Still, I put up this chapter, don't expect the next one for a while. But don't let that stop you from praising or cursing me in your excellent reviews.

Some people have mentioned that the presence of overpowered anything is a turn off for them, but it should be obvious for them that I haven't put up any overwhelming displays from the any character at any time, well I try not to. Power isn't a guarantee of success and neither is it a sign of invincibility. And I've finally supplied the reason why the so called all powerful country sticks to its own borders. They're populated mostly by senile old men who behave like misers atop their gold pile murmuring "my preciousss" all the time. Its my story, and I'm sticking to it. Feel free to bring out your opposition as a well thought out argument.

Anyway, I'm getting a headache from sitting at this keyboard and hammering away. Hopefully when I wake up, I'll see some response *hint*hint*nudge*nudge*

REEEEEEEEEEEVIIIIIIIIIIIEEEE EEEEEWWWWWW! Please!


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer:

Naruto and Harry Potter. They're not mine, and I'd be very surprised if they were yours, because that would imply that this fanfic is being read by a set of veeeeeery interesting people indeed.

I'm not getting paid and the rest is mine. You have been notified….

XXX

Alarms rang through the air. Smoke was coming through the vents and the floor was tilted at what seemed to be a thirty degree angle. There was no water yet, but that only meant that they were not sunk yet. It had been barely two minutes since the explosion and already it seemed to be too late to save anything. The stern was practically a crater, half the ship was on fire, what was left was listing and all that was left to do was abandon ship. However, there was just one problem. The trawler did not have intact floatation gear. All the survival gear had been packed at a single location to save space. As a result it had all become a victim of the initial explosion. The young sailor, crawling on the floor with a broken leg had mere moments in a confused daze before a second explosion broke his ship in two and sunk her entirely. From sailing normally to fully underwater, the trawler had taken just hundred and two seconds

Above them, unseen to the previously living sailors, invisible explosions littered the skies as thirty ancient looking warships flew in complicated patterns in pitched combat. The occasional projectile however arced downwards and into the sea. The sunk ship would be reported missing after two days and would never be found. Ultimately, the vessel would be the subject to conspiracy theories, as would another twenty three ships that disappeared n that area for no discernible reason, never to be known again. A month later, the Chinese trawler _Qing Yuan_ was officially struck from its shipping registry.

XXX

The warehouse was a dull place. Thirty year old walls did not lend any excitement to a glorified hidey hole that had never seen "better days". It was accessible, was painted a dull brown and had an extended loading dock. The only impressive thing it could claim was perhaps its anonymity. Consequently, the two people who pulled up to it with a flatbed truck carrying the grey forty foot long container, did not feel as confident as they ought to have been.

"Stan, are ye sure yeh got the right place? All these bloody things look the same to me!"

Said Stan laid a reassuring hand on the other mans shoulder.

"Relax. This is the address, this is the place. We just have to get the crates in and we can head fer the nearest pub. Twelve hours drivin' ain't so bad when yeh got beer waitin fer yeh at the end."

"I hear yeh, now we jes need to rustle up some local lads tha' don't mind helpin' a-"

The words were interrupted, as the speaker suddenly found himself the victim of a throwing knife embedded in the skull. Actually, it was the eye socket and had managed quite the spatter of blood and viscera, panicking the other man completely.

The still living man, tried to run away in his panicked state. But even as he leapt from the cab, he was dead, his head landing a few feet from where his body crumpled. Two men walked quickly and quietly to the back of the truck. Both wore jumpsuits, balaclavas and utility vests, all a dull tan color.

"Check the serial number."

"HNJU7511926. It is the one."

The first speaker nodded. He motioned with his hands and the two of them carefully began the process of disposing of the bodies. There was no need to chance evidence. The two began the process of covering their tracks. The first was to temporarily set up a Torii for cargo transfer. A few sleds were used to remove the contents of the container, various crates. For half an hour, the only noises were the sounds of sliding and rolling as the men methodically removed wooden crates through the luminescent gateway. At the end, the Torii was taken down and disappeared, its one time use having finished. Finally, the truck was driven off by one of the pair while the other man began the laborious process of erasing the body, ensuring that the deaths could not be discovered by magic, sorcery or ordinary forensics. First step was to remove the bodies, which had been already done through the Torii. Next was to remove the physical evidence. The contents of a spray can were carefully applied over each of the areas with blood, from the runner. Beheading was a messy but efficient thing. A minute was all it took before the dead organic matter on the floor began to smoke and flake. Five seconds later, all that was left was carbon dust, which was getting dispersed quite easily. No stain, no protein trail. An elegant paper fan blew dust back into place, erasing tire tracks and dust voids. Next, a scentless incense stick was burnt. The magical smoke quickly purified the area, removing all traces of spells, auras and magical traces. As the man left, the stick burnt and sublimed into the air, leaving the empty warehouse just as it was, dusty and unused, just as it had been that morning

XXX

The man looked at the reports with a fair deal of resigned amusement.

"I should have expected this, I really should have. But it seems I was too late on that front."

The woman in front of him looked at his shadowed face grimly.

"It was unexpected my lord. This happened only two days ago, and our intelligence is not perfect. In any case, the Japanese have managed to do the impossible. They have put a metal vessel in the air. And in two engagements the Japanese have shot down a good chunk of our fighting fleet strength, 24 ships, and have also damaged a _Zheng-He_. The opinion in the imperial court is that the Japanese are turning into a menacing enemy."

"Indeed, my Hornet. It seems these ninja are persistent. What exactly does the court have to say?"

Hornet winced.

"The Immortal Emperor is in favor of ceasing hostilities as soon as possible. Considering that we have been stalling the progress on the official prototype being constructed at Shanghai, it is expected that he would be interested in the Japanese specimen. From what our men can see, the two they are fielding are seemingly more advanced than the ones we are developing."

"Describe them if you will, these poorly written words…are giving me a headache"

"Yes My Lord. As far as we have been able to confirm, there are two vessels. Both are clearly military submarines of a relatively recent build. One is a Russian Kilo class hull, flying Peoples Republic colors until it rose from the water and proceeded to score a point blank salvo on the _Whisper_ _of the North Wind_. It seems to use its torpedo tubes to fire a more potent version of our standard capital ship ammunition. Its maneuverability and performance is comparable to a raider but it has demonstrated far more offensive and defensive capability. After revealing itself, it fired forty three more rounds in seven minutes while violently maneuvering and then retreated underwater, sinking seven ships in all. It was unfortunate for the Chinese that their defending cruiser was taken out first. The others were unable to counter it without risk of friendly fire before she dived. At this point we are not sure why they did not consider it suspicious, especially since the Chinese navy does not currently operate Kilo class submarines. The participating ships are also reorganizing to counter an ambush from within friendly territory

The other is a German type 209 and performed similarly. But, appearing two hours after the other attack, the fleet was able to better defend itself. It was airborne for seventy five seconds before diving. However, it was a distraction to allow the Japanese fleet to commit a surprise attack. Caught out of position and just coming down from an alert, many vessels were sunk, the 209 surfacing frequently for brief periods for finishing shots on retreating vessels."

The man leaned back, cloaking more of his figure in shadow. A minute later, he spoke.

"Did you know Hornet, that in 1941, Grindelwald created a flying U-boat?"

The woman shook her head.

"Surely you are joking, my lord. The wand wavers cannot have succeeded where we have failed so far!"

"But they did. It's not something many know or care to remember, but in august of 1941, Grindelwald somehow managed to field a type VII B that could soar at ten thousand feet at twenty knots. However, he never actually used in his war. What you must never forget my dear, is that they can create amazing things also, if they actually desire it. Our entire program and the emperor's Shanghai based one are all an attempt to do what that the Germans had managed fifty years ago. It is entirely possible that these two new examples are a result of the cooperation between the Axis powers later in the war. Cunning fellows, these ninja and their ilk. It is unfortunate, but it seems that circumstance has put us on more even footing than any of us could have possibly imagined. We will have to move carefully in their areas of operation if we need to keep up our advantage. I want you to choose between Britain and Australia. Either could use your presence, and if the war ends as quickly as you think, we will need it."

The woman bowed. "I will head for Australia. I would prefer not to be within striking distance of the demon so soon after we have stirred up its lair."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that. You are still alive after all…. Nevertheless, you can head for Australia, as soon as the travel restrictions are lifted. By my estimate, we have two years for the war to wind down and one or the other side surrenders. But then, this new addition to the game has all but ensured that the Japanese will be victorious doesn't it? Such a pity that. In any case, continue to monitor the action for the moment. I will personally supervise our construction projects while the war continues. And see if you can deduce the locations of the ninja agents currently abroad from the pre war intelligence reports. It will be useful once we can move forward in our plans."

XXX

Hagrid was drinking. The half giant had problems with ordinary liquor. His unique physiology rendered ordinary ethanol all but useless when looking for that pleasant buzz. So he was forced to trudge down to Hogsmeade every weekend for his alcohol intake.

Magically brewed firewhiskey was specifically created to act upon the magic of the drinker. So instead of the normal process of absorbing alcohol through the digestive tract to be circulated in the bloodstream, firewhiskey needed practically no time before it replicated in wizards, the effects of alcohol upon the normal human body. Still, careful adjustment ensured it was not instantaneous and that one could enjoy the brew instead of using it as a more expensive sleeping draught. A muggle on the other hand couldn't handle too much firewhiskey. A glass and they would be out.

But even firewhiskey could not allow Hagrid to savor the bliss of getting drunk. He was just that resilient to magical and chemical influence. This did not mean that Hagrid could not be affected by copious amounts of alcohol. It was just that his definition of too much alcohol was a few _gallons_ higher than the average wizard. Without the money to pay for it, Hagrid never got drunk; ever. And how much ever Hagrid loved his job, Gamekeeper did not pay that much. So Hogs Head remained as ever, a place to relax and unwind, without the drunkenness that plagued his fellow customers.

The hooded figure who approached him however, did not mind spending a few hundred galleons on not so cheap firewhiskey. He came with a goal and a plan, and he was assisted quite beautifully by somebody who was both a master manipulator and somebody who knew the weaknesses of Reubus Hagrid.

To Voldemort, the theory of manipulating people could be reduced to two simple ideas. First, one needed to know how a person would react to a set of scenario. Second, using that knowledge, one must engineer a set of scenarios that would produce the reactions required.

In this case, Hagrid had a few real weaknesses. He was almost incapable of keeping secrets. He was also quite friendly, talkative and had pride in his "Harmless beasties". Quirrel's strategy was to take advantage of these facts.

The first step was to be friendly. Establish a common ground that was the foundation for the rest of the interaction. Quirrel first brought the half giant enough firewhiskey to make a dragon drunk. Next he began to talk about breeding creatures. With the Dark Lord in the back of his head and a near inebriated companion, it was not long before Hagrid was behaving as if Quirrel was an old friend.

The second step was to subtly prod Hagrid into a half drunk speech, without his filters on. As a "friend", Hagrid would not be violent to criticism (he was just that bloody nice), but would rather argue the point. By calling Hagrid's expertise into question, Quirrel had all but ensured a prideful rant from the half drunk gamekeeper. A comment along the lines of "But what experience can you have working in a school full of children?" led to a rant of the various creatures he had experience with. After the Unicorns, Centaurs, Acromantula and Thestrals all of which was actually impressive in any other circumstance, Hagrid finally mentioned Fluffy.

Next, Quirrel subtly but surely shifted focus to the creature called Fluffy. A careless mention of how impressed he, a Greek was at a Cerberus, was enough to quell Hagrid's doubts. A Greek creature breeder asking about a creature from his country was not that implausible. Half an hour of talking later, Hagrid finally wound down about Fluffy's childhood, Fluffy's teeth, Fluffy's favorite midday snack, Fluffy's favorite chew toy and so on. Quirrel was finally able to coax Hagrid into slipping the vital information. So music was the answer to his problem. How simple. And finally, Quirrel had to extricate himself from the possibility of Hagrid mentioning this conversation to Dumbledore

Quirrel made his escape by handing over his fertile and soon to hatch dragon egg to Hagrid. It may have been a half remembered fact in the vast expanse of knowledge the Dark Lord had amassed, but Hagrid's obsession with dragons and a confundus charm all but erased the encounter in Hagrid's mind save for the fact that he had been gifted the dragon egg.

Wait, that was still not plausible enough. Ah, that's better. Now that Dragon egg was "won" in a "card game". Now anybody who managed to get that "information" ahead of schedule would only believe this was an attempt to pawn off the egg. His Lord Voldemort was truly wise and all knowing. Sure, Hagrid might remember again in a few weeks thanks to his half giant physiology, but by then, he wouldn't think much about it. Either he'd be enraptured over a baby dragon, or be in Azkaban for illegal breeding. The Dark Lord was maliciously happy to frame the half breed for the second time. And in Hogwarts no less!

XXX

Jeremy Wilkinson, employed by Scotland Yard and currently investigating a massacre was roused from poring over his data by a knock on his desk.

"Sir?"

His superior officer, and off duty drinking buddy, Paul Ellwood bent over to him and whispered.

"I'm sorry Jerry, but from about two hours from now, you're going to have company in this little party."

Jeremy sighed.

"Who is it Paul? And will they be of any help? Or are they taking over?"

Paul shook his head.

"It's going to be a joint effort. Apparently one of their ongoing operations has discovered a connection between the victims of our killing spree and their own targets. They are hoping that this will help both of us in our respective cases."

"Paul, just tell me who it is. You're beating around the bush too much!"

There was a deep breath.

"It's Interpol. The guy is named Takeda Suzuki. He's some Japanese Sherlock that's done a lot of work on the Chinese Triads. And don't go blowing your top about it now!"

Jeremy stilled and sighed.

"I'm not twenty eight you know. It's been a long while since I threw a tantrum over such things-"

Paul was unimpressed and interjected, "You're thirty."

Jeremy continued without any sign he had heard,

"- And personally, I hope this guy can help me with this, because I am getting very frustrated with this."

"Yes, its bleedin' obvious. Any actual progress yet?"

Jeremy nodded.

"I've constructed a basic order of events based on the path, the splatters and the bullets."

Paul gave him a measured look. Jeremy just looked exasperated.

"Yes Paul, the bullets. Don't look at me like that. I've been getting the lab to match the striations on almost all the bullets recovered so that I can construct a timeline and figure out who fired what. It helps that they all stuck with the same brand, Sellier & Bellot. Which by the way is more evidence that those arms smugglers Edwin has been investigating are all sourcing from-"

"Yes I get it. I'll be sure to tell him that. Not that it will do any good…"

Jeremy then spent the next half hour laying out the attack as he knew it on a floor plan of the building. He drew lines, circled the areas where the victims must have fired using what guns. He even got a count of the casing s to prove where the guns were firing.

"An' here's the scary part" he said, pointing at a corridor. "Until this point, these thugs are being killed wholesale by kitchen knife, which is really creepy and reminds me of an American horror film… Anyway, the guys now start using guns, which is all well and good, except for the fact that these were the same guns being fired at them barely minutes earlier! It's like these guys came in with just the kitchen knives and then picked up guns as they went further in. Its madness I tell you! Also, the killers used all the calibers they could. We know from the blood trails and splatter that the dead were searched immediately, so they took the spare ammunition also. It's like they were bloody testing the toys they picked up. And after everyone was dead, they just calmly go about looting the place of the money the weapons and maybe something else. But they leave the alcohol! I don't know what those dead crooks were doing with French wine that expensive, but simply ignoring what's in the open? Who does that? I hope this new guy of yours can help me because all this is case is going to do is get me committed before the week is out!"

"Good luck with that. And don't forget to get your paperwork done. See you at eight."

"Right then."

XXX

"Tetsuya kun"

A shiver trailed up his spine. Tetsuya considered, not for the first time, whether it was an omen of his karma that the voice now seemed to follow him into the school proper.

"Skywalker san. This is unexpected"

A humanoid form slowly melted out of the shadows of the alcove where the voice had originated. This time though, it had company. A semi nude female figure dramatically melted from the same spot. Wisps of shadow dispersed teasingly until a red clad figure was revealed. But this was somebody he knew. He let out a gasp in shock. But his words were derailed by the next statement.

"You see Aurora? This is the ninja who has been wandering around. Why don't you play with him for a while? You don't need to be near me all the time, yeah?"

The girl produced a full toothy grin, unsettling him with the sheer amount of mischievous intent he was reading. It was very much the vibe Saya gave off before she began to utterly decimate her opponent. Being in front of somebody carrying the same vibe as that mostly deranged Hokaido kunoichi was not reassuring.

A split second later, his brain reset and began to analyze the situation. He was facing one known and one unknown opponent. Their motives were indiscernible and the probability of failure if he chose to attack was high. So instead he thought furiously over the fact that the first year girl was apparently an acquaintance of the mysterious self proclaimed shinobi. Skywalker was strong, and if the way that Granger held herself was any indication, so was she. But what was the point of practically admitting such an association to him? Skywalker knew that he would report this. And so far, a major advantage the man had possessed was his anonymity. Why would he compromise the security that ignorance his associate possessed? Or was it not Granger? The chances were low. Not to mention that he had been in a few conversations where Grangers seeming insanity was discussed. Her behavior had abruptly undergone changes on near random dates, and she seemed to possess some form of multiple personality disorder. But this Granger topped them all. This was not a bookworm. This was a predator. He shivered. And then they were gone.

What had happened? Where did they go? He spun around hurriedly. There was no indication that anything had occurred at all. It might have been his imagination for all he knew. He turned around and there was Granger, wearing her normal uniform. There was just one thing that made him wary. She was holding a hand gun of some sort and methodically cleaning as she walked. As she reached a corner, she looked at him and smiled her Cheshire grin. She then made a gesture with her hand, miming shooting him. She winked and disappeared around the corner. Tetsuya shivered.

XXX

Minerva McGonagall eyed her first year class quite warily. Transfiguration was a dangerous subject. And first years, with their relatively higher theoretical learning compared with actual wand waving meant that when it came to actually doing the spells, the children had a possibility of causing widespread mayhem. First year classes were always a tense time. With the mixture of purebloods eager to prove that they knew what they were doing, and the muggleborn who were eager to experiment, she had a headache getting the undisciplined horde to do anything properly. It was just as well that spell work at this stage produced smaller results as they actually got used to learning and doing magic. It would have been a real nightmare if every spell cast and miscast actually did something. There was a reason transfiguration was heavily regulated in the classroom. And she had to reverse another student's _object_ as it began to gain legs and crawl away. "Mr. Thomas, please concentrate on your spell or it will have unexpected and possibly dangerous consequences! I have repeated time and again that focus is essential but it seems the lesson has not sunk in yet! That will be four inches on the importance of focus from you."

The bell rang, indicating that it was finally time to leave the class. McGonagall rubbed the bridge of her nose tiredly. Teaching was a joy. But teaching first years? Not so much. Only a couple of students were responsible enough to no flub most of this relatively minor part of the subject. It was disheartening to watch a field that you had such love and passion and expended so much work for be reduced to a subject most people couldn't care the slightest for. Not even Albus's reputation and mastery of the art seemed to reduce this downfall of transfiguration. It was troublesome, to say the least.

She sighed and got up. She had a staff meeting to attend. Ever since Albus had brought that wretched stone into the castle, it seemed that all she had time for was meetings. Staff meetings, Head of House meetings, Board of Governor meetings, Philosophers Stone defense meetings, there were so many meetings that she didn't even have enough time to lounge around as a cat. It was frustrating, stressful and overall maddening. She could see it now; Albus would pop in wearing some heresy to fashion and eyesight, smile and offer everyone lemon drops while showing off the twinkle in his eyes. Then he'd let everyone get the pre meeting arguing done before interrupting and reminding everyone who the king was. Oh yes, that infuriatingly cheerful man just loved to be the centre of attention, while ensuring that nobody could actually pay attention to him without going blind. She shook her head, and found herself in the headmaster's office, sitting in front of the old goat himself.

"Ah Minerva! Lemon Drop?"

The look she shot at him was actually enough to quell the headmaster, who let the dish back into its lair, ready to exasperate the next guest in the room.

"What have you called me for this time Headmaster?"

Dumbledore winced. Minerva usually called him Albus. This was serious, but then so was this conversation.

"I would not interrupt your busy schedule for mere trifles. Surely you of all my friends remember that Minerva?"

"I would not put it past you Albus. This year you have managed to give me a headache the size of the astronomy tower!"

She was back to Albus again, so there was progress! Still, this needed to be handled carefully.

"I apologize for that. Unfortunately, it cannot be avoided. Still, I must come back to the reason I have called you. Did you wonder why there are no others for this meeting?"

McGonagall pursed her lips as she was accustomed to do while in serious thought.

"I had assumed Headmaster that you would finally deign to return to your paperwork and allow me to return to my normal duties."

Dumbledore winced at the extremely dry and accusing tone.

"Again I apologize. Unfortunately my presence has been called upon quite a few times these past few weeks. The channel incident has not helped matters and our esteemed Minister is under the impression that there are assassins after his head."

"I don't care what you have to do Albus! Just get the forms filled on time or I will take my vacation time starting tomorrow! The board has been breathing down my neck over all sorts of trivialities and _somebody_ has avoided balancing the budget for this year. And it's already past Christmas! At the rate all this is going I will be addicted to calming draught by the end of the month! And before you open that mouth, your next words better be I'll get right on that paperwork!"

Albus worked his jaw for a few seconds, absently contemplating the origins of the term paperwork in the back of his mind before giving in with a sigh.

"I'll get right on that paperwork. I'll be here for the next three days anyway."

McGonagall grinned savagely.

"Thank you Albus! Now what did you call me for?"

Dumbledore leaned back tiredly.

"What do you know about the eastern territories?"

XXX

Takeda looked over the assorted crates with a jaundiced eye. It was a sad day when you had to actually use the "emergency stockpile for survival and mission completion". Somebody once called it the FUBAR box. The crates were many. The first one was of course the most useful one, complete, verifiable ID's and emergency cash. Without the convenience of faction bank accounts, this would have to do. And most of the crate was useless. All of the _Spirit Shadow_'s original crew was dead, and hence most of the Id's were useless. However, this meant that the emergency cash, which should have been "just enough" was now I the order of "just more than enough" to cover any medium level of emergencies. The cash surplus meant that it was possible to actually go beyond basic survival and dispersal into the populace. He would have to consider the idea of actually beginning mercenary action. There certainly were the weapons for it. Their current inventory included a very mercenary looking set of HK33K Carbines with optical sights, Steyr AUG rifles, Taurus PT-92 pistols, MSG90 semi automatic sniper rifles, American M67 hand grenades and the more conventional sets of magic negating bladed weaponry. There were also Kevlar vests, NBC survival gear, electronic communication equipment, rocket launchers, and large quantities of Semtex. Accompanying it were magazines, ammunition and manuals. Without his Interpol stint, he wasn't sure he would have recognized even a tenth of it. The space expansion enchantments were apparently done by one of the Japanese wizards who "answered" to the ICW. Takeda was sure he could use this, especially, since there was a lot of surplus, considering the large number it was originally intended to support. What he was really thankful for was that procurement had not shafted them with Kalashnikov type rifles. They were too inaccurate and noisy for his tastes, not to mention _Russian_. Still the number of means in which one might employ military grade weapons was limited. Unless of course, one had the bright idea to remove the existence of annoyances like Skywalker; who was somebody exhibiting particularly mosquito like behavior. He buzzed around them and stung, drawing blood. He briefly went into a fantasy involving Skywalker, a dentist's chair, foot long metal needles, wires and a car battery.

Still, his current "job" was the investigation of the "Christmas Day Massacre" a curious case that had left Scotland Yard stumped. That Wilkinson fellow was a bit unhinged, and had a tendency to rant in a quiet manner that was always amusing to watch. The Korean liaison to Interpol, a strictly neutral fellow as far as Eastern Territories was concerned, was not bothered by his request to return to "Active Duty".

Scotland Yard was only too glad to welcome to aid their investigation. The government, always in need of people to blame was very close to publically deriding their agency's handling of the investigation. Apparently, the public felt "unsafe" because somebody had the audacity to wipe out a building full of criminals. And then steal their belongings. It was all very amusing in the midst of their otherwise meaningless existence. And it really was meaningless, until they received further orders from their superiors. Training somebody into a super powered quasi drone meant that you had to give constant orders to get them to do anything

It had been amusing to turn up at Scotland Yard dressed in four layers of clothing and a Fedora. Personally he might have been overplaying it, but in his line of work, one sought their amusements where they could. Certainly, it had turned his slightly above average (for the Japanese) frame into something that looked far more…solid.

Ellwood had been very cooperative, giving him everything they had. It was certainly a lot. Because it was a public case, there were a lot of personnel assigned to Wilkinson and the data they had collected was enormous. The very unusual killing however meant that very little of it made sense. He had taken just an hour to determine that this was done by ninja. And he had a very good idea just who had done the deed too.

This sort of playful slaughter seemed to be just the sort of thing that Skywalker seemed to be capable of. Tetsuya had reported feeling his opponent operating with "playful violence". This was something that had the same "feel", and Takeda trusted his gut. It was all too easy to visualize the man in his black and red coat, walking into a heavily guarded building with just a kitchen knife in his hand. He would approach through the front, ignoring any and all shouts or threats. When they fire, he would slip around them, like a shadow without form. And he would kill them all, never striking a non lethal spot. When he wanted to kill, he did. And he would walk and slaughter without a care, until halfway through, he found himself getting bored. There was only so much stabbing one can do before you tire of simply stabbing them, so the next one he stabs, he takes the weapon off of them, and then he begins to shoot. Pull the trigger, move, pull the trigger, and move. When the slide locks back, discard the weapon and pick up the next one. He did not need to scavenge for weapons. Not when there was a new one next to every fresh corpse. And then when everyone is dead he would pick through everything and take it away, leaving a little mystery for the authorities to puzzle over. And through it all he would laugh inside at the weakness of the world around him, while outside, there was but the silence of the grave.

A hand on his shoulder broke his reverie. Kenji stood behind him, eyebrows set in concern. Takeda shook his head and sighed. Setting himself up as an Interpol agent was going to cut into his time. Still, it was not as if he had many things to do. And the others could use the time to practice their nonexistent marksmanship. It was unfortunate, but they would have to operate as non magical troops in their current location. It would not do to cause mass panic by doing things the way they normally did. Ninja style executions were reserved for sorcerers for a reason. There was a concrete reason why ninja had to get up close and personal to a sorcerer. There was no real need to do the same for a wizard or non magical person. A bullet would do just as well, and would ironically raise fewer questions. It helped that his brief stint in Interpol gave him plenty of perspective on the non magical world. He still hoped that war would be over soon. He did not relish years of living in Britain. It was simply cruel and unusual punishment.

XXX

McGonagall had been reeling by the time she stepped out of the Headmaster's office. Exactly what sort of wild and illogical things did he deal with on a daily basis? And if so, why did she need to be dragged into it all. She knew why, in the back of her head, that Albus was entrusting her to take care of the school, that he may be unreachable if things came to a head. But it was so disturbing the things he had revealed. She had spent the next few days in a daze, one so disruptive that one of the Weasley twins had showed genuine concern about her. They had even stopped pranking for the next two days until she had shown a bit more surety in her actions. Still, even her less distracted state had been noticed and remarked upon. But out of respect, none had brought it up. Dumbledore, the only one who might have done so, was content to let the deputy work through her thoughts in her own time. It was best not to rush such things. For that way lies madness.

Still, there was on other that McGonagall trusted for things that might affect the school. And when her head had cleared enough, she visited Flitwick in his office.

Flitwick was more than happy to listen to his colleague.

"So Minerva, are you finally all right? You scared us there for a bit. I dare say I've never seen Severus so concerned till now. So what can I do for you?"

McGonagall sipped her tea thoughtfully, an expression that Flitwick was long used to seeing. It was almost nostalgic, how the people one knew changed so much, yet stayed the same.

XXX

Tetsuya was reading in the library. It was evening, and the sky was overcast. January the thirty first was ending on a less than perfect note. The Sunday had little to offer in terms of excitement and he had received no new orders when he checked in. in fact all that had changed was that he was now armed with a pair of pistols and was expected to eventually train with them. It was not entirely clear why he was suddenly expected to be proficient in them but orders were orders. He had been given an update with regards to Takeda's new Interpol cover, but was otherwise kept in the dark. From what he could gather, there were some planned operations for the summer break that he was to be part of. He was to treat them as parallel but separate to his Hogwarts mission. He was also given a bit of cash to pay the seniors for Hogsmeade supplies, if he needed them. Hufflepuffs were entirely too happy to help their fellow wizard.

His deep contemplations were interrupted by a throat clearing and somebody sitting down opposite to him.

It was not somebody he was familiar with, but the Asian features were very blatant. He quirked an eyebrow, seeing that she was a senior and a Ravenclaw.

_"You are Watanabe Tetsuya_?_"_

He did not expect that she would speak in Japanese, so he looked at her for a moment until he had recovered from the surprise. It seemed that the girl was not chancing a miscommunication and was using Japanese rather than Cantonese or Mandarin. He answered in kind,

_"Indeed I am. What is it you wish to speak about?_"

_"I only request that you deliver this letter to your superiors, wherever they are."_

And with that, she slid an extremely regal scroll towards him, letting him examine it without having to pick it up. He continued to talk as he waved a hand over it, sensing for magical traps.

_"Is there a sorcerer contingent in this country?"_

"_No, I am but the daughter of a neutral mage. We are, as ever subjects of the Immortal Emperor, but my presence here is merely to experience the delights of the 'Premier magical education in the world'. Unfortunately, the only thing I have discovered to be of any great value is the eye candy, something I believe you care very little for."_

Tetsuya grimaced. Unlike the sorcerers, who were not above engaging in small amounts of hedonism, ninja were trained to a ridiculous degree to avoid falling prey to "vices that cloud the mind", which included narcotics, alcohol and sexual or romantic relationships, among others. Their bodies were modified in small ways to prevent the excess production of certain hormones that made such activities enjoyable. Of course, it was a will based block, so that eventually, it would wear down, but ninja were assured the inability to enjoy certain things for the early period of their lives. Consequently, despite having lots of knowledge on how to seduce or charm another person into your grasp, Tetsuya had a great deal of internal aversion to actually enjoying such things. He could fake it well, but it was perfectly true to say that ninja were asexual beings well into their twenties, if not forever. There was a reason most ninja are orphans. There simply weren't enough recruits born "in house". His musings were interrupted when he felt something wash over him. A quick glance showed that the other girl, who had still not introduced herself, was similarly alerted and wary. Their eyes flicked around as they casually turned their head, looking perfectly at ease from afar.

When they turned back to each other, they were suddenly exposed to the origin of their last unsettling sensation.

Sitting on a newly placed third chair around the table was an armored individual. He wore a strange helmet and his armor itself seemed to be light and not very protective. However, the tightly bound aura that the figure produced left no doubt in the mind of the Japanese ninja that there was something dangerous about him…

"Skywalker!" he hissed. He pulled a pistol out and pointed it at the newly arrived individual. "What is your purpose here?"

The newly dubbed Skywalker chuckled, a sound that was deeper than he was used to, no doubt due to the odd yet familiar looking helmet he was wearing. The camouflage pattern, green and brown made for a slightly unsettling image.

"So a ninja, a sorcerer and a mercenary walk into a library…."

The other two twitched. Tetsuya shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His pistol was still pointed at Skywalker, the safety was clearly off, and his index finger lay tensed on the trigger.

"What are you here for?"

"Say, is that a Beretta 92?"

"You did not answer the question."

"Ooookaay… well, here I was walking on the ceiling, wondering what I should do today, when what do I find but our resident ninja in the middle of an _actual_ conversation. And so I wondered, what was so important my cute little Tetsuya kun has to be so serious?"

He paused and the other two stared.

"Say, aren't you Cho Chang? Ravenclaw second year?"

The girl nodded curtly, an action that was a carbon copy of McGonagall's. Skywalker leaned back, folding his hands against his chest, the armor making an unnoticeably dull thud from the action.

Tetsuya gripped the pistol tighter. It seemed that Skywalker was either foolish or crazy. Even he could see just how irritated the young Sorceress was getting. Thin wisps of magic were radiating off the girl, and parts of her black uniform were shifting into something else, likely her battle robes. Though why she was getting irritated was quite another matter entirely.

"I wished to know, why there is a second year like you, with so much power hidden. Why does a first year like you have so many secrets? So I desired to find out, _who are you_?"

The last was said in Japanese. Chang twitched. _"This is quite interesting. Watanabe… Who is your friend?"_

"_He_ is no friend. This irritating fellow has been buzzing around our operation since August. Unfortunately, at my current level, I am incapable of killing him."

Skywalker chuckled. "Now don't be so glum my friend, you are young and have time to grow. Some of us on the other hand had to struggle merely to survive our trials and tribulations. Which, you must admit is a most powerful motivation to excel."

Chang chuckled again, her battle robes showing up in patches and dissolving back to her Hogwarts uniform. It was a hypnotizing display, but the other two were not paying too much attention.

"_It seems that you two cannot get along at all. And you, Skywalker... it is you who has been clambering up the halls of the castle. I had not paid attention before, but it is obvious that you are not part of the Ninja staying in the forest. I must say it was fascinating watching you dance around everything. Nobody seemed to see you, except me. And then, when I realized there was another unique individual in the castle, I observed him, and I saw…that he too could not see you."_

The other two were looking at her. Where was she going with this? Tetsuya took a quick glance and noticed that the library was empty. Everyone had gone. Even the librarian, Pince was gone. The eerie silence was broken when Chang's appearance finally solidified into the Battle robes which were no doubt extremely powerful defenses. Unfortunately, Tetsuya had neither the power nor the skill to take out even a young sorceress. His mission ensured that he would not learn how for another seven years.

Chang meanwhile had gotten up and spun around, wearing a psychotic grin that seemed out of place on her formerly restrained features. "Shall we play a game?"

She grinned and the world exploded.

XXX

The library at Hogwarts was a huge collection of books with copies of some books that go back to the founders. Under the care of Irma Pince, it was a paragon of neat and orderly arrangement of knowledge. Unfortunately for the library, today was not a good day. And many of the pristine shelves were thrown against the wall haphazardly.

On one side stood a blue and white clad twelve year old sorceress, Cho Chang. Surrounding her, in a manifestation of otherworldly power were two long and winding dragons, twisting around her, heads at the top, tail at the bottom, two helixes that corkscrewed against each other, it was her defense. A third dragon coiled around the other two lazily; its glowing eyes a clear indication of its intent. Then Chang began chanting.

Tetsuya felt the first slivers of fear running through his spine. A sorcery based chant could do almost anything. A chant had a beginning end and middle, one that could last forever. Simply from the way her arms were waving, he knew this was an environment manipulation chant. The rumbling from beneath his feet was a big clue. He didn't know how this was happening. How was a twelve year old capable of battle chanting? Why was she chanting in the first place? The dragon began shooting watermelon sized balls of air, so he dodged mindlessly. It appeared from the speed and potency of her attacks that she was still very much a novice, something he was thankful for. And then the stone began to ripple and deform. Chunks of the floor began to lift into the air and hover, before revolving around the sorceress. Through it all, Skywalker stood still, as if waiting for the moment when the seemingly unhinged sorceress began to target him. Tetsuya jumped into the air, dodging as pieces of stone bigger in size than his head began to launch themselves at him. The projectile promptly crashed against a shelf in the restricted section, destroying it and some of the books on it. Tetsuya idly wondered if there was a reason Chang was being this vicious before noting that Skywalker was not being shot at. His brief feeling of surprise was transformed into trepidation when the magically reinforced library doors splintered and exploded into the room.

XXX

Dumbledore was the first to the scene. Being headmaster had the side effect of being painfully aware of the destruction in the library when about twenty portraits had begun to scream in his ear. He really didn't need the headache. Still, destroying the library books was a very serious event. The library had a great deal of protective enchantments and purposely damaging a book in it required a great deal of ingenuity or power. The enchantments on the library were the work of Rowena Ravenclaw herself. To destroy so many books in spite of them all, could only be the work of a powerful malice. And from what he could gather, there was a large amount of power being gathered in there. He would have to be prepared. He was not taking chances. He could not afford to. With all the chaos that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere after ten years of peace, he wouldn't be surprised if somebody had let loose a dragon inside there. There were many who sought the stone hidden within the school. And distractions are a viable strategy to occupy the headmaster.

Drawing up in front of the doors, Dumbledore drew up to his full height and jabbed his wand forward, his robes furiously fluttering backwards just from the energy bleeding off. The doors themselves disintegrated, the nearly sickle sized shards of wood funneled inside by the nature of the spell used. He had a brief glimpse of three figures before they disappeared in a pressure wave that further damaged the library, sending up the dust from pulverized stone, wood and paper. A Hufflepuff uniform wearing male, an armored and helmeted figure who was most likely male and a third party in blue and white, obscured by the whirling and floating rocks in some kind of advanced wind spell. He had apparently walked into a battle and the participants had fled when confronted by a gatecrasher.

Unfortunately for the headmaster, he was so lost in furiously replaying and analyzing events that he had been standing there in the same spot as when the combatants disappeared. Without the extra impetus of danger, he did not see or hear Madame Pince draw up behind him. The Librarian had taken one look at the damage and shoved the headmaster to the side with all the manner of a rampaging Erumpet. A loud cry of "MY LIBRARY!" reverberated through the hallways. Because he was unprepared, the poor man managed to hit his head on the wall hard enough to knock him out.

Until he awoke three hours later, the staff was panicked that there were intruders of sufficient ability to defeat the Headmaster in combat, while destroying the library in the process. McGonagall had stood in front of the third floor corridor, wand in her iron grip until she received word that Albus was all right.

XXX

When the headmaster had barged in, the three in the library had a split second to decide what to do. Chang turned invisible and flew off, her departure hidden by the chaos of her dissipating spells. Tetsuya had hopped away, over the headmaster, who had looked shocked and seemed to be trying to process what he had seen. As for Harry, he dispersed. He was just a clone after all.

The original Harry Potter raised an eyebrow and slunk into the nearest shadow, disappearing from the common room without being noticed. He slunk along the castle, searching and searching until he found the second year who had just minutes ago tried to fight him in the library. She was in the forest, just within the boundary, as was Tetsuya. Rubbing his gloved hands together, Harry appeared before them.

"So, shall we continue the party?"

The sorceress sighed. "Let's not bother. We will have more than enough opportunities to fight in the next few years. After that ruckus in the library, we will have to avoid any overt displays until things settle down. Besides, it was inadvisable to fight anyway. With the defense professor being possessed as he is, the use of non wizard abilities within a highly visible location could be observed by unknown parties. I am not entirely comfortable with the scrutiny such an exposure would result in. Thus we must all hold off for a while, most likely until next year for any violence that may prove….troublesome."

Harry tilted his head. "The defense professor is possessed?" Tetsuya also nodded questioningly, unsure of what it meant. Cho nodded simply. The silence was broken by a distant roar. A flash of flame lit up the evening and some shouts were heard.

Harry paused and took off. Tetsuya looked at her and shrugged, before heading back to the castle. Cho stood a while longer before a thestral walked up to her. She patted it on the head and sighed. Her impetuousness had led them to this stage.

"Even without our lifting a finger, events come to pass."

XXX

The time after was tense. There was a crushing weight upon everyone. Too many things had happened tin too short a time. Even without the dragon that was now somewhere in the forbidden forest. Three days after the library incident, there was an announcement that a Norwegian Ridgeback had taken residence in the forest. Considering that Hagrid was at the time sobbing about his baby at his seat on the staff table, there were very few people who did not have an idea as to exactly where the dragon came from.

Students scurried like rodents, shoulders hunched and eyes lowered. Incidents between houses diminished as people found new excuses to stay inside and not wander the halls. The library was almost deserted. Even though the repairs were done almost immediately, the fact that something had happened there and the teachers weren't talking was enough for rumors to spread. Classes were conducted with a solemn severity that made what even Charms seem like a funeral. Everyone just wanted their time here to be done and over with.

It was in this atmosphere that Quirrel thrived. The lack of joy had an invigorating effect on the dark lord and he was actually feeling better even with the systematic destruction of his body. Even as the end of the year approached and everyone began to perk up, his good mood had been there to stay. So he planned and plotted. The Philosopher's stone was there for the taking. He just had to arrange some suitable distraction in place. Fortunately, the Dark Lord Voldemort, thanks to his days in Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn alley, had a great deal of affinity to the old and useful art of forgery. And considering the type of people in the ministry, Dumbledore wouldn't have a problem believing they wanted him there for one reason or the other.

The stage was set, the actors in place. Come tomorrow it would be Showtime.

XXX

It was Thursday, 4th of June, 1992. A few days were all there was left to the end of the year. The students were full of youthful anticipation. And the exams were written with much exasperation. But there were people for whom there were more important things to do. Dumbledore was gone. He had an errand from the Ministry of Magic, who apparently couldn't find their bottoms if their hands were spelled to it. The staff was otherwise unhurried, but it was curious to see that they kept an eye on everyone. The day passed much the same as any other day and through it all, Quirrel fought the giddiness. It was infuriating how time passed so slowly when he needed to get that stone.

At night, once curfew had passed, Quirrel couldn't wait any longer. He tore through the corridors with a purposeful stride. He had pulled out all stops for today. Extra unicorn blood and an illegal potion to temporarily boost magical power at the cost of future pain, he was not in the mood to be stopped by his own weakness.

Unnoticed to him, his thoughts and Voldemort's aligned. There would be no use of for the deluded fool after today, so the dark lord had no problems accelerating the degradation for a bit more power. After all, he would get his own body today, no use keeping the old one alive for much longer.

The obstacles were easy, which was what made Quirrel so wary. The headmaster had a century to study and wield arcane magics. Where was all that knowledge being used? Why were the challenges so weak?

The Cerberus was easy to take care of. An enchanted harp for a melody and just like that the beast was asleep. The devils snare he magically pushed aside. The keys he acquired by conjuring a falcon that quickly snatched the thing out of thin air. The chess set he flew over, a power the dark lord had explained the mechanics of. The troll was knocked out easily; he was an expert on them after all. He walked through Snape's fires with little issue. His dark arts were superior to anything that pathetic little parasite was capable of.

The last obstacle baffled him. The mirror was an arcane magic, an example of the work that was possible in the old days, when wizards truly were gods. But for now, it was merely an obstacle to be considered. But it was a most impressive one.

Quirrel spent an entire hour waving his wand before he was satisfied that there was a philosopher's stone in the mirror. In other words, it wasn't a decoy. The signature showed an alchemic circle beyond his understanding, but not beyond his capabilities to make use of. Voldemort had delved deep into magic, and alchemy was a part of that. Still, he had to get it first!

As the minutes ticked by, he became more and more frustrated. Why was he not getting this? Why was there no stone? The Mirror of Erised mocked him blatantly with his failure and desire all at once. Time passed by without notice.

"Hello Quirrinus."

The calm tones of Dumbledore's voice floated at him from behind.

"YOU! This is YOUR fault!"

Dumbledore, eyes noticeable by their lack of twinkle chuckled mirthlessly. The plan was simple. Keep the former DADA professor occupied. Combat would go in the headmasters favor, but it was always best to put off the actual fighting as long as possible. Thus they both stood vary, wands gripped tightly, ready for spell fire

"Did you not imagine Quirrinus, that if I set traps that a competent wizard might foil, I would have a purpose in doing so"

Quirrel growled and shivered in his rage.

"I would imagine old man, that all that you finally showed just how senile you really are. You will not stop me Dumbledore. I WILL succeed here. My Master WILL rise tonight. I WILL be rewarded as his faithful servant."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. However, the wand gripped at his side told a different story.

"You poor deluded fool... Voldemort does not reward his followers for their success. He punishes them for their failure. You will fail today and by tomorrow morning will have passed on to your next great adventure. This room is a trap. You cannot physically leave this room unless I allow you such permission. One may turn back at any other point before, but to leave THIS room, I am the only one capable of granting that privilege."

Quirrel gnashed his teeth furiously, his wand hand vibrating from the tenseness.

"I will speak to him"

Quirrel startled and then calmed. He removed his turban, one turn at a time. And when it was fully gone, he turned around with a flourish.

"Tom"

Dumbledore didn't blink at the hideous growth at the back of the head. But Voldemort, the ash colored face was not amused at the name.

"See what I have become old man? Because of that boy, I have become less than vapor. A shadow of my former self, but even now I stand at the heart of your fortress. How does it feel Dumbledore, to know that I have been within reach of all those mudblood spawn? That at my word, your precious children would have become mere corpses in the hallway?"

Dumbledore didn't twitch. He was a picture of calm.

"Does Quirrinus know that when you abandon him, he will die instantly? That all your effort till now will do nothing to further you or him?"

"Ma-master?"

Voldemort scowled at the Headmaster before shrugging with Quirrel's shoulders and smirking.

"It seems I will not be returning to the wizarding world just yet. Mark my words, Dumbledore. One way or another, I will return. I will bring your world down to its knees and I will kill you and that accursed boy. You are both living on borrowed time. Enjoy your life while it lasts!"

Not even giving Dumbledore time to reply, he flew out of Quirrel's head like a bludger. First he headed towards Dumbledore, but seeing the ominously lit wand, he changed his mind and flew straight up instead. Dumbledore stood still for a moment before sighing tiredly. A quick check confirmed that Quirrel was dead. A few more spells to lock down the room once he left and he traced his way back all the way to Fluffy. The beast was still asleep from the spell he had put up.

McGonagall's face greeted his the second he stepped outside. She opened her mouth to ask him a question, but he shook his head. She gave a huff of relief before asking, "Quirrinus?" Yet again, Dumbledore shook his head. The expression on his face was contemplative.

"It seems Minerva, that we are not allowed the luxury of waiting."

"What do you mean Albus?"

"Only that I am beginning to see why some chose to retire early."

McGonagall shot him a venomous look but said no more. He wouldn't be saying anything useful today.

When both teachers had left, an armored figure briefly appeared out of thin air, dropping from the ceiling before disappearing in a puff of smoke. In another part of the castle, an amused voice spoke three words.

"How very interesting…"

XXX

A/N:

And so the first year draws to a close. I chose to end it here because everything after this is really better suited to another chapter. This one really doesn't have a common theme, but touches briefly on several people's lives and events. The wheels of destiny grind their way slowly as things happen related to and independent of each other. I didn't want to focus on Hogwarts alone and this reflects that. The part at the beginning isn't really relevant for the moment, but I like to think that if war occurs, everyone is affected, regardless of whether it is now or later. If people die in war, and their deaths are meaningless, there really isn't much hope for the human race at all. Also, I've shown hinted at a bunch of idle assassins who are currently doing….stuff. This will be important eventually, much like the kanji burnt into Harry's eyes will be important…eventually.

The end might seem boring and the lack of actual combat off putting, but I'd like to think that if you are thinking straight, you'd try not to do anything big in a school full of children. Whether that is due to compassion or a desire to avoid getting in Dumbledore's sights, its pretty sensible to avoid fighting. And Dumbledore was waiting for Quirrel to run out of gas. Willing possession + no real gain by remaining in Hogwarts = a Voldemort who will leave without issue, mostly because in that form he really couldn't do jack shit. Yes, Dumbledore knew about Voldy. If he hadn't, the heavily warded room with dark wizard bait would probably have some means of detecting if the dark lord had popped over for tea and slaughter, because he's Albus Freaking Dumbledore.

Yes Cho has become some variation of ooc. She's not all powerful, doesn't have super powers and is definitely not invincible. She's just using magic very few can understand the first time around. And looks damned impressive. She's just there to observe and look at the drama, and maybe add to it.

The really sneaky assassin squad has now gained guns, because killing people with impossibly thrown shuriken is always suspicious.

Our man head ninja does part time at Interpol. Because life is funny like that. And massacres are always interesting once you've stopped regurgitating food.

The dragon is FREEEE! Yes, that's what happens when you don't have a convenient hero to smuggle your illegal animals properly. The dragon burnt through the house, because Hagrid wanted it to be a secret, couldn't use fireproofing magic himself and in the end simply wasn't there. Especially when Norbert(a) went Roy Mustang on Hagrid's hut and finished that journey in true Rambo fashion by melting into the jungle.

That's about it. If you can catch a spelling or a grammar mistake that I made in my haste, please tell me so I can correct it.

As always, review your heart out, it's always a pleasure writing this story.

RRRRREEEEEEEEEEEVIIIIIIIIIII IEEEEEEEEEEEEW!

Review!


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I Don't own Harry Potter or Naruto. And I'm putting this here because it's become reflexive. I'm not sure how somebody who goes to FFN can justify not being aware of that fact if it's not their first visit.

A/N:

Don't do drugs, alcohol or tobacco. They suck you into a bottomless pit of despair. I kid you not.

Has anybody done a Fawkes is actually Nicolas Flamel's animagus form fic?

This is actually a result of me overdoing my WW2 nonfiction reading. Nothing major to do with the fic, but put me in a "mood".

Ever heard of Simo Häyhä? They called him the White Death. This guy was basically the Minato Namikaze of his time.

A man, whose very presence caused the Russians to slow down their invasion.

A sniper, who killed enough men to put him straight in the record books.

And he did it all without even a sniper scope.

Now THAT is badass.

Ps. Did I mention he took an exploding bullet to the head and then lived on to be 97?

XXX

Harry relaxed into his seat with a great amount of relief. It had been barely five minutes since leaving Hogsmeade and he was relaxing into his seat.

The year was over. He had survived. He would have celebrated if he didn't just feel so bloody tired. For all that he could claim, his year was best described as monotonous. Magical knowledge was an excellent motivation to go back, but most of the teachers left much to be desired. And as a whole, he found himself unusually exhausted. The constant vigilance against an unseen and for now nonexistent foe, it wore on him. He needed to rest. Yes, a little rest, a moment without copies running around, without the stress of running into incomprehensible and hostile beings, is that too much to ask?

Hermione laid the sleeping boys head on her lap, absently stroking his hair. Her other hand was twisted into a black appendage that was whipping at a similar black appendage her "partner", Aurora "wielded". Life went on.

XXX

Kings cross station was as crowded and annoying as ever. Harry idly mused that it would be extremely easy to assassinate somebody in this swirling mass of humanity, where seemingly everyone came and without the protection of wards and the like. Sure, it would be difficult to kill somebody anonymously with bright and shiny spell fire, but jabbing a hypodermic needle full of one of the various venoms and poisons of the magical world into somebody would be ridiculously easy. Then again, hypodermic needles were a bit too muggle for most. They had no trouble with curses that sliced you in half, but needles were too much.

Hermione had not been there when he had woken up and he was unsure as to whether he was happy or sad about that fact. Sure he felt sure that she would drag him into her crazy schemes if he couldn't talk her out of them, but he was also a little grateful for the company. Solitude was not his natural state of existence. And he was in some way ecstatic that there were still people (?) who consciously sought him out even with his public persona being as unapproachable as it was.

He kept a lookout and eventually spotted his uncle, now wearing a clerical collar in his semi formal outfit. Harry noticed that the man was now much slimmer and looked more like a body builder and less like a useless slob. Sure, he had been reducing his weight before, and he had seen the man at Christmas, but he really hadn't paid attention then, seeing as Vernon was still slightly skittish around his nephew. But now, his uncle looked like a new man. With short hair, a cropped moustache and a body that looked less like a barrel and more like an athlete, Vernon Dursley was a very much changed man. His health and fitness was never less in doubt. And the semi casual clothes he wore were actually drawing favorable attention that Harry was careful to not perceive.

"Harry! Ready to go home?"

Harry nodded with an odd expression on his face.

"Yes uncle. Let's be off then shall we?"

XXX

"Hermione!"

The uniformed bushy haired girl pouted. The man who came up swept her up and twirled her around. She smiled.

"I'm happy your back! Let's go get some ice cream!"

XXX

There was a distinct air of peace around Number four. It was relaxing actually. Once Vernon had turned a new leaf, it seemed that the house itself was filled with joy. Perhaps it was his sensitivity to the energies of the house, but it had never been more welcoming as it had been at that moment when he stepped into the house.

Dudley had returned from Smeltings. He also seemed to be retaining his shape and did not look like at all barrel shaped. He quietly sat in front of the television, watching with a small smile as his cousin came home. He nodded once and returned to his program, a classical movie of some sort, which Harry did not bother to inquire about. Petunia walked out of the kitchen and smiled at him, after kissing her husband in an affectionate embrace. She slowly led him to the dining table, where a small chocolate cake was laid out with a "Welcome Home" written in white icing. Even without his presence, the Dursleys had truly changed for the better. He dug in.

XXX

Despite the fact that it was the summer holidays, Harry was not prepared to let go and relax. He slept two full days without waking up, his only concession to the "vacation".

Harry first "act" was to order a set of specific needles in bulk. The long stainless steel needles were his substitute for senbon, an otherwise impossible to procure weapon. He didn't bother with kunai or shuriken; instead he sent a clone to pick up his swords, ordered all too long ago. He got them the next day. Next, he went directly into London. He had a scroll full of money that he could use and he wanted to use it gainfully. Six million pounds was a fortune. And he aimed to use it to make more money.

His trip to Gringotts was not eventful. Goblins were ruthless bankers and had a great deal of respect to people who make money. Thus, even though a person like Lucius Malfoy was a backstabbing goblin hating leech, he was still respected, if only as a human who made money. What he spent it on, they didn't care. And neither did they care exactly where it came from either. Compared to that, when Harry Potter walked in and deposited six million one hundred thousand twenty two pounds in paper currency, they were much more impressed with the boy than they normally would. Mr. Potter had of course just multiplied his available resources by about thirty times. When he enquired if they had a means to keep that money in a muggle bank, they told him that they could set up an account with Barclays. And they did. Now he was a millionaire, and he had the paperwork to prove that he had everything above board, legally. Next, he went to his investment firm and began giving directions. Computer, electronics, communications, things that he knew would expand in a very hurried fashion. The advice of a minor seer, who could do some minor divinatory scrying, contracted to the goblins and passed on to somebody with money was an excellent means of making money and spreading goodwill. It fit in with what little he knew about those particular fields and helped to increase his net worth in the coming years. Certain companies received a shot in the arm, giving them increased resources to work with, putting the fruits of extensive R&D onto the market that much sooner.

And Harry Potter would make money. After all, the goblins may not be human, but they knew just as well as anyone else the usefulness of helping those with power. And helping the growth of 1.2 million Galleons was something that humans tended to be grateful for; or less treacherous to their helpers about.

It took just a little over a day, but he was able to allocate over four million pounds into electronics and software companies. He was pumping resources into companies with vision; young madcaps mean to change the world….and make money while doing it.

Then for his final business in Gringotts, he went on to arrange for the creation of alternate IDs. Magic made certain parts of the documentation process irrelevant. Muggle ID's, and other documents were an unadvertised Goblin service, one you had to specifically ask for. And it cost a few hundred galleons, not exactly cheap. Two ID's were made, one for Alexander Grey, and Victor Lumiere. Both had slightly different looks for their photos, the second one being closer to what he would look like eventually. The first was a pale skinned, silver eyed man with short brown haired

Both were now complete identities with driver's licenses, bank accounts, qualification documents for their basic educations, social security number and passports. As a coincidence, Alexander Grey was his appearance when dealing with his local arms dealer.

XXX

Hermione spent the day in a sort of detached manner. Each day she existed, she drifted further and further from her parents. She wanted do…something. What that something was, she didn't know yet.

Aurora helped, but she was somewhere between a twin and another personality. She floated beside her, invisibly commenting on everything around yet not helping at all. Hermione needed to get out of this place. This one dimensional existence of humanity was suffocating her. The book covered walls of her home were no longer a sanctuary. They were a cage and a hindrance. The knowledge she once sought fanatically held no meaning to her. She was beyond such things now. She had the ability to alter reality to some extent, something that both was and wasn't magic. She didn't use it much, but it was there. Maybe she should go out and have some fun?

XXX

"Tetsuya kun…are you sure there are Chinese here? It would be troublesome if they were to decide to follow the course set by our respective homelands and fight us."

"She was a sorceress. I cannot tell what rank, but she has a wind element at the least. And she was battle chanting before we got interrupted."

"It seems we are at an impasse then. Very well then, since there is nothing to be done there, get ready for training. We will practice urban combat next. And I hope you are now familiar with those pistols you were sent. You will be practicing against mobile dummies."

Takeda heard a gulp and grinned savagely.

XXX

On the fourth day, Harry began to shadow the London police units. He sent clones to see how street cops and detectives actually worked. He did plan to spend a lot of time committing actions that would be normally classified as crimes. So he watched and he learned.

During this impromptu field trip, Harry heard a very interesting piece of news. A clone had been eavesdropping on two off duty policeman who were chatting when he heard that the government was still scrambling to solve the massacre his Fox masked clone had done. It was apparently serious enough that some big shot Asian detective from Interpol was working with Scotland Yard on the case.

The news had interesting; enough so that the clone had pick pocketed the nearest victim, henged into a nondescript woman and called his original with the news. It wouldn't help him much at the moment, but he could probably use this in the future.

However, the original was much more interested in this development than the clone, so Harry quickly shifted to the heart of London itself, instead of remaining at Privet Drive. Accordingly, he moved into a cheap hotel and set up camp. He carried with him quite an arsenal of weaponry. He had a feeling.

His enthusiasm was rewarded when, two days later he stumbled upon a most interesting individual as he walked in his too many layered clothing. Even for the cold English ambience, it seemed to be too much.

XXX

Hermione stood at the aisle with a frown. This could be the most important decision she had to make since she decided to play with Harry.

"What do you think?"

Aurora rolled her eyes as she floated lazily from the invisible area above her mistress. Her annoyance was clear by the fact that she wasn't giggling.

"Just pick one already. You have been at it for an hour! What happened to having fun? Harry's just two miles away! Let's go!"

She tugged at the frowning girl's sleeve and tugged ineffectually. Her mistress kept swinging her head back and forth.

"Vanilla or chocolate? Hmmmm…."

XXX

Takeda frowned when he sensed something off and paused at a sidewalk. He signaled his invisible shadow and twisted the dial on his watch. Ten seconds later, a voice spoke up behind him.

"How do you do Takeda san?"

The ninja tilted his head to the right and back, allowing his to keep an eye on the armored individual that stood there. The camouflage scheme looked all too visible on the grey cobblestone path they were both standing on. Without fear of death, they stood all too close to one another, confident either in their ability, or unconcerned with defeat. And they were both speaking in English.

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you. And how are you, if I may presume to ask?"

They stood motionless, unseen and unheard, but avoided all the same by the sparse but crawling humanity that flowed that evening. They were conversing meaninglessly, a simple nonsensical conversation that belied their ready demeanors.

"Not bad at all. How is Tetsuya? He's not upset about his last misadventure is he?"

"No, I can't say he is. But he is training harder all the same."

The helmet tilted backward, as if the wearer was looking at the sky, now a dull color that seemed determined to entomb the sky in its misery. Takeda spoke again.

"The weather is really bad."

"…."

"You do realize that you have a marksman aiming at you?"

Harry shrugged. He was a clone anyway.

"I'm not really here. But I do wonder why somebody like you would just stand outside, like this with _just _a sniper for cover. I'm sure you realize your vulnerability one way or the other. You are completely visible after all."

"I'm not really here either."

"Ah."

"Indeed."

They relaxed. At the moment, this conversation was more along the lines of a phone call. And what exactly do you do when you realize you are having a conversation that neither of you are present for?

"If that is all, shall I take my leave?"

"One moment! You're the one who did the Christmas massacre right?"

"Perhaps?"

"I just need to know one thing."

The clone braced itself. Outright demand in a so far innocuous conversation was disturbing.

"Why didn't you take the liquor?"

Takeda could _feel_ the quizzical expression the helmet concealed. He shrugged, a slight shift he knew the other would pick up.

"It has been maddening a lot of people at the yard, and even I am not immune to the speculation."

The clone twitched. He spoke sourly.

"So you're the hot shot Sherlock substitute. What a coincidence. And, I did take most of the bottles. The ones I left behind in that room were all poisoned. It was some type of internal betrayal ploy that I interrupted. I left the unusable ones untouched and made off with the more edible stock after interrogating the boss."

"I see. We had not tested them for poisons. It is perhaps a good thing these investigators were strict in following regulations regarding taking the evidence."

The clone shrugged once more.

"I really do not care. I'll be seeing you. Unless you can tell me of another place I can clean out? It has been an interesting diversion."

Perhaps the clone was joking, but Takeda was not so ready to dismiss out of hand. He mulled it over for an instant before he was suddenly inspired.

"You will of course be indebted to me for the favor?"

The clone was taken aback. What his original would think of this he did not know. It was perhaps a good thing he couldn't summon specific personalities from previous clones. He decided to keep his commitments to a minimum.

"Something minor perhaps…"

Takeda nodded. He expected it. Still, it was interesting to see what Skywalker would do with this. It was an Interpol lead, not just a British problem. Still, if this was done properly he wouldn't be losing his cover there. And maybe, just maybe he could get his men that experience they required.

"There's a place where they distribute Afghan heroin to the isles. It's not exactly a small operation. Interpol has mere inklings about it, but I have better resources. I'll provide the address for you to handle….in exchange for an agreement of sorts"

"And what would that be?"

"Neutrality, until we are completely opposed in our goals. You are unfortunately an unknown quantity, and I would rather have you as somebody who is if not an ally, then at least not an enemy…for now"

Intriguing, this was extremely intriguing.

"For now" the clone agreed.

"Just keep things conventional for now. I would not want to deal with unexplainable massacres again. I do have a real job, expendable though it may be. Finding a real cover again would be a pain."

'How neatly everything fits' Takeda mused.

"Pass me information as I require and we'll have a deal."

A few minutes of quieter murmurs later, they continued onwards, stepping off as if they had never stopped at all.

Harry was amused. He may not have planned it, but in a single hour, he had a new target, managed to achieve at least lip service neutrality with his primary competition and now knew that nothing would come out of the Christmas Massacre case.

Takeda was content. He had barely sensed overt energy from that mad fellow, obtained verbal neutrality and made an overture for future alliance. He was better poised to use his time for however long the war back home was going to occur. And he could get rid of scum without having to risk his conventionally inexperienced men. It also would serve as a distraction for when he completed his objectives that did not require everything to be explainable by the human limitations and laws of physics.

XXX

"Boris! My friend! How are you doing?"

Said individual, looking even more the part of the gruff Russian than before, greeted him with a rumbling laugh. The clone, looking to be in his early twenties and wearing a proper suit, thanks to a henge, grinned beatifically.

"It is good to see you again! How goes your work, tovarisch?"

"It is good, very good! It is so good that it seems I will have need of more than mere pistols. I will need something with a lot more range for now, and also an assault rifle. I need to…diversify."

Boris grinned once more, a horrible toothy grin that looked odd within the facial hair framing it. Straight to business was a policy he supported wholeheartedly.

"Good, good! We shall make a proper soldier of you yet!"

They sat down as before in the very odd warehouse, surrounded by guards now using a more compact weapon than he had seen before. Whatever they were, AKs they were not.

Boris began his pitch with a series of printed sheets with a basic line drawing and weapon specs. He laid them out and began to elaborate eloquently, a passionate fiery appeal that was not diminished by his lack of perfect English.

The first set was sniper rifles. From his pitch, Boris apparently had quite the collection for sale. Apparently, it was always good to keep an example of merchandise close at hand. The clone Bear flicked through the dozens of papers with a quick look, looking through it once for familiarity before looking through the pages in detail. Finally, he picked his choices, the PGM Mini Hecate, .338 caliber bolt action rifle.

Boris nodded thoughtfully for a few seconds before grinning again. The gleam in his eye promised madness.

"Long range high caliber scoped rifle. You seem to be expecting some tough scrapes tovarisch!"

"Yes, I am. Any recommendations?"

Boris motioned to one of the guards at the corner. He picked the man's odd looking weapon and put it on the table.

"This is the Fabrique Nationale P90. It uses a new 5.7x28mm round that…."

It took him thirty minutes before he was sold on the new wonder weapon that the Russian had stocked up on. Still, it was not bad looking, short and could be slung horizontally on the back without making him looking like a human cross. It would go well with his armor that was for sure. The ammunition was a tad more expensive than he wished it was, but that was alright. The live fire tests he had done at the warehouse suggested that the weapon was worth its cost. The fifty round magazines did not hurt.

He also took the time to get a suppressor and a threaded barrel for a Glock 17, a spotting scope and HG-85 hand grenades. Finally, he brought more ammunition for the pistols he wanted to be proficient in.

Two P90s and then the rifle with spares, not to mention the scopes, sights, tools and everything else made for a significant bill. He would have to make some money soon if he wanted to maintain his inventory. Thousands of dollars had been spent near carelessly in very little time. Still, he was now armed and if one went by convention, dangerous. Well, he would be once the other clone drove up in the rental van. The whole transaction took three hours; including the time it took for the Russian's man to deliver the weapons and ammunition from wherever he actually stored the things. His last two acquisitions were free, a manual of sorts from an American sniper, the official sniper training manual, survival guides and the scope manuals themselves.

XXX

In the office of a certain Gandalf look alike, a spinning instrument began to slow down, very, very slowly. Not that there was anyone to notice. Fawkes the phoenix was vacationing somewhere in Africa. The portraits were all empty save for the perpetually sleeping ones. The sorting hat was sleeping, "recharging" for the inevitable repeated trips into the heads of chaotic, undisciplined and pre pubescent children. And Dumbledore himself was arguing with Fudge about the unnecessary reallocation of ministry funds. Without a record function, the instrument's change would go unnoticed, as the world itself spun in strange new directions.

XXX

The river Thames was a very iconic part of London. It had history and mystery woven into its very threads… and Harry found himself remarkably unmoved when looking upon the waterway. It was a large body of water, slow flowing and quite busy. If he used it for his jutsu, he would end up being quite blatant in a situation that required much subtlety. He was also resolved to actually be close to the action this time. He was still going to use his clones as somewhat disposable cannon fodder. He wasn't _that_ confident in his armor. Still, he wasn't going to let a psychotic clone do most of the work.

Still, the place was under heavy guard. He had found three entrances exits guarded by heavily muscular men with assault rifles slung over their backs and chattering away in Russian. The entrances themselves were thick steel doors, the type one might see in a bunker or a submarine, except these were above ground. He was not sure how they moved stuff into the country to be honest, and he didn't know where their loading/unloading point was. He simply didn't have enough knowledge.

XXX

Of course, Harry didn't know too much about the place. The compound was underground for one. It was a set of tunnels connecting several "basements" under some very old buildings. They included a couple of purpose built bunkers dating back to the Second World War. And there were also a few warehouses in the network, a "front" where stuff was actually processed. And "stuff" was relatively pure highly refined, directly from the factories of Afghan Warlords eager to solidify their holdings with arms and ammunition. After all, the Russians may have left the place, but they still had plenty of contact with their former allies and former enemies. And the Afghans may be patriotic soviet hating warriors, but they were very pragmatic about their underhanded dealings. The operation was run by Russians, former soviet soldiers who found themselves out of a job as the USSR collapsed in what seemed like yesterday. The fact that many were avowedly loyal to Marshal Dmitry Yazov may have contributed to their self imposed exile.

The men were motivated by the money, the perpetual incentive. Their weapons were surplus standard issue weapons, everything from pistols to rocket launchers and mines to high explosive that they had "acquired" and that they had used to great effect when they were in military service. Among their number were Intelligence and Special Forces members, poached by enterprising criminals eager to snap up skilled and disillusioned men for their own private armies. Even Harry's friendly arms dealer could be loosely counted among their numbers, if from a much earlier date. It was an era of political upheaval. And with the total collapse of soviet hierarchy, none of them had any true political loyalties, merely monetary ones. There were local British citizens with them of course, but the head of operations was Russian. And he had many men under his command. A good half of them were permanently housed in the place.

XXX

Harry spent two days looking around as much as he could with an eagle eye. But he found himself frustrated. The Russians were thorough. They had checkpoints and chokepoints and despite their lack of uniforms were extremely military minded. The place was more defended than the British army base he had crept into once. He just wouldn't be able to use the above ground entrances without some serious use of jutsu.

The fact that it was underground meant that he couldn't simply jump over any obstacles. The place was one big defensive stronghold, and he didn't even know how big it was. He would have to infiltrate the place. Or that was the plan anyway.

His entrance, as provided by the Interpol agent of a ninja was not really an address; it was actually a description of a dock, a hidden dock for small boats. It was a loading unloading platform for small boats. It was camouflaged by a set of fiberglass panels that had been painted the same colors as the surrounding stone that held up the buildings around it. There were two motor boats moored to the concrete ledge and the place was unguarded. He assumed it was for escape purposes or the like. Certainly, it wasn't something you could use to make regular cargo drops at.

He had also been given one other opening, a warehouse that had an underground entrance to the tunnels. This was where he actually knew there were men guarding the place. The big burly men were walking around with their guns in the open. It was a disquieting sight, for reasons other than that he was going to be facing them soon enough. He had eventually found three more such places in the area, one next to a small dock capable of servicing the barges that operated on the river. This was how he knew of the security. It was also how he knew that these were trained men. There were snipers too, if the windows he didn't get close to were any indication. In any case, he went to the door most hidden from the outside. He didn't want any disturbances to be in the open.

This place wasn't guarded and the door was closed. It was a blast door, the type typically found in bunkers. "Curious" he whispered, examining the architecture that seemed to be built to survive bombs. A bunker of some sort, whether it was for the cold war or the world war he wasn't sure, but it seemed and old and disused. The door had no mechanisms on this side. In other words, this was meant as an exit only. He used his swords here. The two Japanese construction blades, custom made and engraved with seals arced gracefully, his swing leaving an arc of silver that bit into the wall and the door, all three inches of steel.

He had packed up most of his weapons securely. He also left the sniper rifles and his P90s behind. All he took was his armor, his ninja weapons and a suppressed Glock and its extra magazines. He waited for night fall and ghosted over the doors he knew; vary of the men who were so casually toting assault rifles.

He sent in clones. The swords he had were perfectly reproduced sans any seals he had on them. Thus he quickly had a three man squad creep up on the first two unsuspecting guards and behead them. They went down without a sound. The clones scooped up the weapons and spares before Harry himself took one, sealing anything he didn't personally carry. Two more clones quickly took the bodies away to the nearby river, dumping them in the convenient spot. The guards were posted just 40 feet away from the door, after a gradual curve. If he had to guess, it was now parallel to the river flow.

It was when they opened the blast door that it all went to hell. Somehow, they must have had some sort of hidden camera set or sensor setup there because the clones were immediately cut down by automatic fire. Whatever the case for his real set, clone armor didn't protect them from AK fire. There were five men pointed at the door and they were all firing. However, this did not actually deter him. He revised his plans and put up a localized genjutsu to make his clones invisible before they went in crawling upside down on the roof. They didn't get killed immediately, so he gave a small pulse of chakra. There was a set of screams and the rattle of the automatic fire and then silence. A memory hit him and he paused before confirming that he had succeeded in clearing the room.

The "waiting room" was a mess. Scattered bullet holes marked the walls. But the men themselves were dead. Two were practically dismembered with detached limbs. One was missing a head and the other two were shot up. The clones signed that they had shot them up. As before, a minute was spent quickly tagging everything they had, including the ammunition. A clone quickly changed the magazines on the weapons before keeping the removed ones. This seemed to have transformed into an assault right off the bat, rather than the infiltration it was meant to be. Unfortunately, retreating to regroup was a bad idea if he wanted to return here. The moment he disappeared, they would regroup and close ranks. And he did not want to see what passed for _scorched earth_ in these forsaken tunnels.

Harry cleared his head and hung back. This time, he armed the clones. And he moved forward.

In the first thirty minutes he had moved a whole 400 feet from that blast door. He had been forced to rely on making himself invisible as he quietly tried to kill off as many of the enemy as he could. The Russian weapons, the Russian language, and the Cyrillic alphabet used on the signs were not painting a good picture of the place. It spoke of settled enemy, entrenched in his lair.

He had been forced to use the guns of his enemies, and had killed twenty more men. However, the place was difficult to fight in for him, the narrow corridors and low ceiling far from the scale of construction of Hogwarts that he was used to. He couldn't use wind despite the extreme efficiency of the element in narrow spaces, because he could not afford for a stray cut to bring down the roof on him. With the entire structure being composed of chokepoint after chokepoint, he had to move slowly. He had already lost twelve clones from surprise attacks and ambushes. Expendable though they may be, he should have lost none. He had used a jutsu just once. In the third straight steel door (is this place a bunker or a battleship?) he had gotten fed up and used a wind jutsu. The nameless jutsu was meant to blow through things, like a directed concussive blast. The door had been blown away with two Russians, but the force of it had loosened a section of the roof and almost caused a cave in. he had then decided that at least for that day, he wouldn't be using many jutsu for a while.

The walls seemed to distort his chakra senses, making it difficult to sense any killing intent. That or they had none what so ever, people so used to the act that it was just another action for them, in the class of drinking water, writing or telling a joke. Either way, it made his movement hazardous. Even his invisibility was not very useful, with the Russians firing "blindly" into the corridors, without poking their heads out. The narrow corridors were sometimes just enough for one man, making it difficult to miss. These were veteran soldiers. The fact that he was able to kill them was of little comfort.

He had been shot at directly and had deflected the shot with his armguards, but was not eager to see if it could repeat the act. The plastic piece was successful at deflection, but he was not sure if the seal had burned out. So he stayed low and used his clones, grimly killing the Russians as they shot at him from behind their cover. The Russians did have grenades, used rarely maybe to avoid cave-ins, but he was thankful. He did not fancy getting blown up along with shot at. The Russians preferred to shoot at him, even when a grenade might seem to be the better option. Whether it was to keep their dead intact or for some other reasons, he didn't care, but they were not fond of trying to blow him up, for which he was thankful. The concussion wave from any one of them travelled far and had once dissipated three clones at a time. He also didn't use them. Without even a simple idea of their capabilities, the Russian grenades were unsafe, even if he saved every intact one he found. And now was no time to indulge in testing. As for explosive tags, he wasn't quite ready to use his _slightly_ overpowered demolition charges in the narrow passageways of questionable structural integrity, grenade or no.

XXX

It was in the midst of one of his clones charging a corridor invisibly that he was shot for the first time since he began. He noticed the pain first, the bullet having missed bone, but still making a mess of his upper arm. The small caliber high velocity round tore through flesh like a train through fog, rippling into flesh and shredding muscle. The pain hit a second later.

He drew his fingers into hand signs painfully, letting his tolerance for the pain hold him out until he could pop out a few clones to let him catch a breath and heal. Bullet wounds were far more painful than the slices and blunt trauma he was used to. Bullets did not make clean cuts... The bullet had passed through and he only had to push out a few plastic fragments before he took the whole two minutes to completely heal the arm, a lifetime in the silence, broken only by gunshots and Russian invective. He fisted his hands and stood up. A clone wordlessly handed him a rifle and he moved forward. Forward, because that was all he could do now.

The next hour was a dizzying mixture of death and blood. Clones slaughtered themselves by the dozen, and Harry found that his strategy of relying on ninjutsu and genjutsu had atrophied his ability with less incredible modern warfare. His last assault, by the clone had made him very confident and he was now locked in a bitter death match against these grim faced Russians.

As he dove deeper into the compound, he actually began finding rooms full of crates. But he didn't stop to examine it. A lot of them were food and drink, enormous amounts that were used to supply the population of gun toting soldiers. The toilets were minimalistic contraptions that were nonetheless tidy little things. The whole place looked like something out of the war movies that Vernon had once watched to impress a costumer, a veteran. He encountered barracks, hastily defended but still not the most effective cover. As he progressed, he was starting to encounter actual store rooms; including ones containing crates with white powder that spilled from the bullet holes onto the ground in little cones like an hourglass. He ignored it for the moment.

His progress was actually getting easier. The bigger rooms meant that his clones could better use their speed and ability, not to mention their ability to climb up walls. The Russians he now encountered were now in full soviet infantry regalia, with Afghanka and Ushanka as he would learn they were called. They were also using their pistols a lot more. It did not change that he was getting weary of the constant battle. How many of his enemy had died, yet still more popped up. Did they actually hold an entire brigade down here or something?

And still he pushed forward. And at one room, he suddenly found out just how big the place could be. He had entered a room, a big room, with many crates and cargo containers. The crates were not all closed and still had weapons in them; AKs, pistols and RPGs. The last were untouched, probably a concession to their underground location. It was an armory of sorts. But he didn't waste the opportunity to seal up the whole lot, leaving the place empty seeming. That was when they started pouring in, this time with bigger weapons. They were bringing out machine guns. So perhaps hiding invisibly on the ceiling was a good idea.

Still, it was a battle and the enemy was a trained and motivated soldier who was shooting pieces of metal he wanted to avoid getting hit by. So he for the first time used one of his own captured grenades, assuming that the larger room would better dissipate the blast. He went back to the tunnel as the blast hit the four men in the machine gun group, sending blood and flesh of dead Russian and the machine gun crashing into the wall behind it, where the belt promptly shattered, spilling the bullets on the floor like dropped marbles.

That was when things took a turn for the weird.

XXX

Lieutenant Vassily Titov, wearing his old soviet uniform in a casual and not very alert like manner looked around the just blown up room with the air of somebody who has been woken from his sleep. He looked at the ceiling, _felt_ the unusual nature of the person standing there and swore. His hands slowly let go of his assault rifle and let it hang loosely in the sling, his hands up and in roughly accented English he spoke two words.

"I surrender."

The armor wearing figure was obviously quite incredulous so he added very helpfully.

"The others will come soon. Please hurry."

XXX

The man was the most insane person he had seen since coming in here. And that included the guy who tried to protect himself by putting his freshly dead friend in front of him as a meat shield. It didn't work but it was an effort nonetheless.

This guy was an entirely different level of crazy. Who surrenders to a hostile stranger who just turned his comrades to chunks of meat? He looked at the unafraid and impatient looking man. Then he remembered that this man had just seen through his genjutsu. It took him just a second to make the decision. He shot forward at inhuman speeds and put his hand on the Russians head.

"SLEEP"!

The man crumpled and was spirited away to the boat entrance. As he was being carried, clones took some rope from one of the supply closets he had dismissed and tied the man after stripping him of everything.

Then he moved forward and to flood the place with clones. With the almost huge storage places, with freight elevators and the armed guards, he abandoned all ruses of normality, using his crude sewing needle senbon to put holes in everyone's heads. Without the narrow one at a time corridors, the Russians were quickly slaughtered. Harry waded through blood by the gallons, painting the floor red, leaving sticky footprints and picking the blood stained weapons from the cold fingers of the dead Russians. Still, everything was going much faster.

Thirty minutes later, he could officially say everyone was dead. Only one had surrendered from the whole bunch, the others had acted more like kamikaze pilots than ordinary soldiers. That would probably have something to do with the armed soldiers pouring in from the other direction though.

They wore black body armor, similar to those used by Special Forces soldiers than ninja and seemed extremely uninterested in him. They came in with assault rifles and purposefully let as many alive as possible, giving Harry many a dozen kills. He would have attacked them too, except for the person following right behind the foremost team. He dryly noted that they appeared to not have fought in the least.

"Takeda san! What an amazing coincidence! What brings you to this slaughterhouse?"

The senior Japanese ninja, now wearing the same attire as those beside him minus helmet shrugged. Harry stabbed down the rising feeling of annoyance. Of course he would be there. He was the one who provided the location in the first place. It was not totally surprising, but it was definitely annoying.

"We blocked the other exits and chased them in the other direction. Why else did you think they were all rushing you instead of escaping?"

Harry shrugged, standing on the still expanding blood pool of a perforated corpse. He easily ignored the seven assault rifles and three drawn blades he was seeing in their hands, standing as they were in one of the storage rooms. It was doubtful that he was in danger, but he was perfectly willing to flood the rooms while he made his escape.

"Some people are remarkably prone to stupidity in the name of their cause. I assumed these were the same. So what are we going to do?"

Takeda rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Obviously, the operation has been shut down. All _we_ need are the narcotics and the documents. The leader we found twenty minute ago in his room with three drugged and underage girls. That pathetic fool will live just long enough to regret it. The victims have been taken to the nearest hospital with a note."

Harry nodded. Pedophiles were disgusting creatures. That this one stooped to drug the victims on top of it was unforgivable.

"I will salvage all the weapons, stored. And you?"

Takeda nodded. Skywalker (as he knew Harry by) was in his rights to the spoils of the operation, seeing as he had done the most of it. And letting him take the unwanted weapons would solve the problem of picking them up and disposing of the. He idly noted the still working identical to Skywalker figures, which were stripping and carting away the corpses.

"Take them all, we do not require the weapons. And then we shall seal our neutrality on this division of spoils."

Harry shook the man's hand warily. He was more comfortable with fighting, not negotiating. Still, progress was progress, especially if he did not have to constantly look out. Not that he was going to trust anything, but he was a bit less wary.

"Yes, to our continued neutrality!"

XXX

The next two hours were spent in some of the most monotonous work he had to do yet. His army of clones quickly gathered up the bodies and dumped them into two rooms. The ninja who accompanied him were quiet and respectful. And they seemed to be just the bit wary as they went about swiping the crates of drugs, the papers and the computers. The clones in the meanwhile collected the weapons and ammo into crates and sealed them away. More than a hundred and fifty rifles, uncounted magazines, a number of ammunition crates and other things, like uniforms, field glasses, land mines, detonators explosives, toothbrushes, cigarettes , spades etc.

Also in the place, were bundles of cash, American dollars and British pounds in neat stacks in a not the smallest of safes. The ninja authoritatively assured him that they were real and not the fake currency that some drug dealers were fond of paying with. Honest drug dealers, that's what they were. Still, the currency was divided equally, something that Harry was certainly interested enough in. he wondered if this surplus of cash was a common thing among organized crime. He shook his head.

There was lots of loot, enough that he had to use more than forty separate storage seals for it all. He would have to search through it all before selling off what he didn't need. Maybe Boris would like a few rifles or cigarettes?

He burned the bodies in one of the surface warehouses. There were a lot of bodies, but a few clones "donated" enough chakra for a flame/wind combination that could melt steel, in a contained barrier, one similar enough to the one Orochimaru had fought Sarutobi in. The ash would be released into the Thames later. Not exactly a burial, but there are some cultures, which had religious rites that in effect say burn the corpse and drown the ashes.

He spent another three hours using his suiton to wash off the majority of the blood away. The bullet casings went with the water, a river formed in a network of shallow chakra induced whirlpools, the localized high pressure stripping the not yet completely dried blood from concrete. At places, it was powerful enough to gouge out a layer of concrete with it. A line of clones coordinated the makeshift collaboration jutsu, leaving the floors and walls reasonably clean of blood. Instead of a red sticky mess, it was a damp environment now.

Takeda wryly mused that it was far more effective than buckets and mops. On the other hand, the blood that had been washed off was now mixed in with the river, where it quickly diluted in the darkness, unseen. It was now five in the morning. It had been a very long day.

In the office building the Russians seemed to have used as their legal front, the men and women gathered. Takeda's people had cleared out everything they wanted, as had Harry and his near mechanical clones.

The underground complex, a set of main storage rooms that had seven tunnels that extended outwards where they housed the men and their things, were all empty. The ninja had blocked the exits and chased them like rats towards the unwary Harry. It had worked splendidly, in that the entire operation had been destroyed in one swoop. The Japanese had recovered the drugs, and Harry had taken the arms, which as Takeda commented, seemed to have been enough to equip a few hundred men for quite a while.

"This is where we part ways I'm afraid."

Takeda nodded. He opened his mouth, closed it sharply then spoke.

"Tell me Skywalker, are you interested in a car?"

How interesting…He gets a free car.

"I'm listening"

Takeda nodded.

"The Russians had a fleet of vehicles that they stored in this building, some to show off their wealth and power, but an expensive set nonetheless. Would you care for one? The rest we will be commandeering for our use. If you wish, please pick one of the vehicles?"

The car park was an underground garage below the building. Of the many spaces, about fifteen were occupied. Five were ordinary looking family cars, probably for not being noticed. Two were luxury sedans, the type favored by businessmen who wished to demonstrate their wealth while still not dipping into largesse. Five more were station wagons. The other three were sports cars of a fashion. Though just why a group of communists turned smugglers needed sports cars he couldn't say. However, they had obviously taken the pain to take very good care of it. There was a Porsche, a Ferrari and a Jaguar. All of them were two seat coupes.

"There may be more, but these were the ones in this building when we stormed it. Nobody seemed to think of heading here once the fighting started."

Unsaid was that the Russians were too busy dying to think of escape.

"I'll take the Jaguar. Do you have the paper work and keys?"

Takeda nodded. A ninja stepped forward and wordlessly handed him a folder. Harry took it, flipped through the documents and quickly scanned through the proper sections. He was grateful he had taken the time to check into this type of paperwork when Vernon offered. A quick check under the hood told him the VIN was accurate. So everything was proper. He just needed to file the paperwork with the DVLA, and the car would be legally his. He just needed to do a few modifications to the exterior and he would be done. The car was just a few months old so he was standing next to a practically brand new 1991 Jaguar XJS, in British racing green. Vernon version 1 would have been frothing at the mouth at the sight of the car. Perhaps it was time to get that manor the Goblins were asking about?

XXX

Before he drove out, the first thing he did was run chakra through the car. He may be grateful for the car, but he wasn't going to risk blowing up in it, or getting tracked through it. By running chakra designed to short out electronics through a shut down car, he would detect magical items and destroy bugs. He found just one thing that offended his senses, a letter in the front dash, from Takeda. No transmitters, explosives or magical booby traps. He drove it into the hotel parking lot, a gem among the pieces of coal parked there. He still had to go places. He fell asleep after making sure there was a squad of clones guarding his new wealth, mostly contained in the two large paper storage tubes.

The next morning at nine, he drove to Charring Cross in his disguise as Alexander Grey. He walked into Gringotts without a care, offending pureblood sentiments by the dozens. He was also quickly ushered in. he had after all, taken the precaution of setting up an appointment.

Goblins did not have individual account managers. That would imply that goblins cared a great deal for customer satisfaction. No, what they had was a system where any account could be seen by any of certain groups of goblins. The difference was that some were more experienced at handling these than others, which meant their advice was better and more profitable. Thus the goblins would assign a "team" based on the deposited wealth of a person or family. You could also on request pay to get a more experienced team. The assigned team then did everything the customer wanted financially or certain other services for a fee. That was goblin account managing in a nutshell. As Harry was a valuable customer, based on growth and current value, he was of course assigned one of the best teams, one represented by Stirwell, which was not his real goblin name. He deposited his new funds in cash, leaving for the goblins to take care of counting it. It was part dollar, part pounds and they used magic, so in a minute he found he had another three million pounds in cash.

This was quickly put into accounts before at his request he got a list of properties that he could purchase. Goblins were nothing if not profit minded and kept an eye out in all kinds of places. Thus it took barely forty minute before a sixty year old mansion in the outskirts of northern London was in his name. He added to his latest transaction by ordering wards for protection and one to keep electronics working. Then a cave was also planned out, a hollow beneath his house with appropriate connections, exits and furniture. His Batman inspired home was his for a grand total of 1.3 million British pounds. Now all he needed was to get there.

XXX

After that eventual first two weeks, Harry was actually quite relaxed. In stark contrast to his resolution at the start of the holidays, he was very happy to let go and relax. He had enough excitement for the time being and relaxed by doing such things as sorting through his loot, poking into his Jaguar and practicing marksmanship. He was happy to be away from everything else, the Goblin wards very effective at repelling everything from nosy neighbors to door to door salesmen. The Goblin wards also had the advantage of cutting off that pesky underage detection, which is if the ministry bothered to actually pay more than the necessary amount of attention to Harry Potter.

Harry did practice his spells, doing more than absolutely necessary and managing to achieve a fair bit of effect on the various pests and creatures he kidnapped for the purpose of testing his charms and transfigurations. His attempts at destructive spells were doomed to failure, and he was a bit frustrated at his lack of progress, but consoled himself that he had not really tried. His preoccupation with other things had reduced the majority of his grades to be theoretical in nature. Sure he was a moderate spell caster, but it was not a shining vote for his ability. So he practiced.

He practiced his marksmanship on the weapons he bought and the ones he captured. The SVD marksmen rifles especially needed some tweaking to fit with what he might use it for. He also practiced with various fire modes on the AK 74s and P90s. he also practiced with his swords. And thanks to his clones, he did it all at the same time. And lots of clones also meant that he could work through all the Russian faster, especially with the Russian English dictionaries he had bought. On the bright side he had begun to get a good grasp of Russian.

He was also getting a hang of the more unusual rifles of the bunch, a few world war two bolt action rifles, Mosin Nagants and a box of stripper clips. Why these people kept them when they had the more "useful" AKs and Dragunovs was a question. Something to ask Boris he supposed. Internal magazines and bolt actions made for more accurate rifles. So he could experiment with this. Besides there was something satisfying to use the iron sights and his eyes to shoot targets at extended ranges. He still needed to get a feel for the bullets trajectory, but progress was progress, especially when pigeons in flight ended up with holes in their bodies.

He also wanted to think on what he wanted to do with that Russian who had surrendered to him. He was currently in a semi comfortable cell, apparently very comfortable with smoking the soviet cigarettes that was part of his loot. One of the ninja had warned him that it was a death trap, but he wasn't trying to smoke them was he?

He thought about the Russian who seemed to be perfectly happy to do nothing at all and seemed to actually be content with being his prisoner. He thought some more and decided to think about it another day. Yes, his time was better spent thinking about how he was going to use up what seemed to be a million bullets of assault rifle ammo, or how to use the so called simple to use RPGs without nearly blowing up his house. Maybe practice maneuvering at the higher speeds of the Jaguar with its loud 5.3 liter engine.

XXX

"Wow, you are a very interesting person aren't you?"

The Russian soldier, in the belly of a mansion near London watched the black cloudy "thing" floating around the room warily. Unlike the other man, this one was much more dangerous. Cigarette smoke curled lazily upwards, the thick smoke crawling upward, pillar like in the barely ventilated room.

"Maybe I am. What are you?"

The black cloud with the voice of a child floated above him, giggling in amusement. It seemed to absorb the smoke before zipping around, trailing the same smoke like a cartoon.

"Oh, it's just that I'm not happy with Him. He keeps going on adventures without me! Don't you think it's sad?"

He shrugged, making an affirmative grunt.

"I know right? He shouldn't hoard all the fun and adventure. If he'd told me there was going to be a massacre, I'd have helped!"

"…"

XXX

"The war is winding down."

The dark room was unlit and the dense smog over the city reduced the moonlight to nothing. A barely discernable figure, clothed in a three piece suit and overcoat did not move a muscle, either in deep thought or uncaring of the words that whispered in the room. Opposite his desk, a feminine silhouette in a cheongsam tiredly stood.

"It seems that yet again the smaller nation has won their war. But this time, our forces have taken a bigger hit."

The man finally spoke, his voice tinged with what some might have called regret.

"It has happened sooner than it should, that is all. It cannot have been a surprise after our last meeting. The Chinese have been nicely caught off guard and had the initiative taken from them. It has happened before after all. I suppose it helps that all of the really powerful units on both sides were not committed to the struggle. And while the average Chinese is smart, the average Japanese is far cleverer at this game. It always was a long shot for us to be able to properly use this _war_. Still, to have this happen so soon! "

"The emperor has personally taken charge of the ceasefire. He is prepared to surrender in this conflict, if the new enemy vessels are accessible to his researchers. In exchange, the Japanese are getting another three of the Zheng-He."

"The war should have lasted years! It would have been inconvenient, but we had plans that we were in the middle of implementing! What madness has possessed that senile old fool now? To hand over his navy's best ships…"

"It is supposed to be due to the loss of that Zheng-He. The emperor was most eager to see the weapon that could wreck his prized battleships, so much so that he has invoked the long unused surrender clauses, the ones that have priority over the neutralization of four fifths of all enemy forces."

The man leaned back and sighed. He drummed his fingers on the desk and spoke slowly.

"First metal submarines and now strange looking battleships? What else have the Japanese been hiding from us? I underestimated their power. To put a vessel of that nature into the air is no laughing matter. Even our project cannot scale that large! And to have that insufferably proud emperor bow down, something is changing."

"Our scenario has not deviated sir. Events have just returned to their proper course."

"Have they really? You seem to have a unique view of the situation. Have you any idea of what that Japanese ship is supposed to be?"

"It is a design from one of their animated shows. They must have used an engineer to flesh out a design for a fictional space ship and then built it. They mock everyone with their antics."

"At least we will ourselves have a look at their operating principles."

"Unfortunately, we will only be allowed access to the submarines. The Shadow Empress is extremely reticent of letting anyone into her war winning battleship after a war that was started by the Chinese using a Japanese ship. However, our own vessel's progress will be advanced greatly when the exchange takes place."

"It matters not; we will have our progress sooner or later. For those who follow our path, time does not matter."

Abruptly, the man stood up and walked towards the door, taking a moment to caress the woman's face before leaving the dark office.

"It seems that you will be going to Edo then. So much for your Australian trip eh?"

XXX

AN. Yes, bow down to my ability to suck.

Not beta'd, so anyone pointing out grammar or continuity errors gets a cyber cookie. I stole them from the dark side recruitment stand.

I have these ideas in my head but it's difficult to focus on just one. I'm squatting at tth, because it's interesting. All those Xander centric stories ftw. And on that note, I wish Tenhawk would update his shadow council fic.

Enough with my rambling. You know the drill. Review and pm as you wish. May take a while to reply though.

REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVVVIIIIIIII IIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEWWW!?


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and Naruto, which really should be obvious by now.

but now and then

those lawyers keep

bangin on my door

at three in the mornin

shoving paper up my nose

sayin I do not own

their shit, so why

can't I be grumpy

in this technical world

where some people

really gunning for

for a bite of my apple?

A/N: Ahem. Now that my insanity has been filed and notarized, back to your irregularly scheduled dose of the unusual. Just remember that Skywalker is an alter ego of Harry and you'll be fine.

XXX

Severus Snape walked down the alley with clear purpose; his strides, quick and menacing. His cloak billowed behind him like the capes of the kings of old. His face told of violence, murder and wholesale slaughter. He stepped into Knockturn without a pause, scattering the otherwise terrifying denizens of the alley as they got away from the possibly deranged and powerful man.

He turned stopped quickly enough, the sign of the shop a clear reminder that he had business to attend. The moment he entered into the store, he sidestepped a curse that promptly reduced a large chunk of door into blackened dust. He was not amused.

"BOOORRRGIIINNN!" he roared, almost tipping over a few dangerous "items" in his haste to reach the pale and terrified man behind the counter. Borgin could not hope to kill him without an excess of guile, especially when his improperly gripped wand had promptly fallen with that first spell and rolled underneath the counter.

Snape reached over the counter and single handedly pulled the cowering excuse of humanity upwards. His other hand held his wand, its tip glowing a vicious yellow. His silky and dangerous voice rang clearly within the silent shop.

"Borgin, when a customer of yours purchases a product, it is common curtsey to make sure that you do not betray them. _Especially_ when that customer is me!"

"Bu-Bu-But it was the real thing! I assure you Mr. Snape sir that the book is the real one! You have to believe me!"

Snape was not impressed. His next words were a whisper, and even more terrifying for it.

"You absolute Dunderhead! I purchased _four_ different books, yet _you_ immediately comprehend which one was a forgery? Will your attempts to deceive me only end when you personally feel what I can accomplish with the cruciatuus? I was not counted among the Dark Lord's lieutenants because I am a naïve child! Especially when the volume in question is one I have perused at his pleasure! Now tell me where it is, or you will _personally_ experience the why I was chosen to be in the Dark Lords inner circle!"

Borgin pissed his pants. He also squirmed out of the sneering potion masters grip and disappeared into the back. Thirty seconds later, he was back with a book that was only slightly thinner than that year's Oxford English dictionary.

"Th-this is it sir! The original! I'm sorry about the-"

Snape sneered.

"Stop your sniveling you witless coward! And if this time you _presume_….."

His wand blew up a portrait of a Burke ancestor. The whimpering shopkeeper nodded shakily and passed out with a moan.

Snape sighed. He took a breath and calmed his face. He hated these excursions to the real world. He walked to the floo, threw a pinch of powder and whispered his destination. He appeared in the headmasters office at Hogwarts with a grunt.

He looked at the portraits and found one that was definitely awake.

"Tell the headmaster that I have retrieved the chronicle. Be assured that it was a magnificently pathetic waste of time, better spent in mastering my more experimental potions."

The portrait nodded and disappeared, probably to inform the other portraits and so on until Dumbledore himself got the message.

The things he did for Dumbledore….

XXX

"Again!"

The loud crack echoed once more, reverberating through the area, and the ears of the bystanders.

A small dust cloud marked the location where a small piece of metal had slammed into the ground at high velocity.

"Taka…. it seems that you…. are a very bad shot."

Takeda's deadpan voice cut through their earmuffs as effectively as the sound of the gunshot preceding it. The prone figure on the ground raised his head, tilting the black painted sniper rifle so he could remove the magazine.

"I am not suited for this sir. My talents are in tracking, not long range assassination."

"No matter, I'll see if I can't get Sora or Mayu to see if they have the instinct for this kind of work. If worst comes to worst, I will have to expand my own repertoire."

"Takeda sama, I know it is not my place, but is this truly our path?"

Takeda looked up into the sky, a hand raised to shade his eyes from the rare English sun.

"I'm afraid so. That Russian nest had some very interesting information. Three elected officials and twenty two bureaucrats profited from and aided the heroin smuggling ring. And as ninja without direct instructions, we must fulfill our other duties, the elimination of evil. And just like the rogue sorcerer determined to usurp the throne of the Jade Emperor, these more ordinary practitioners of evil shall suffer the same fate, by blade….or by bullet."

XXX

Ron Weasley woke up with a headache. This was not a good vacation. His days were filled with mishaps. The gnomes he picked up fought back and left rents and scratches. The food he ate sought to exit his body more urgently than it went in, through his front or rear. And he tripped down the stairs nearly every single time he used them. His mother was at a loss as to why it was happening, but he was perfectly happy to eat the ever increasing amounts his mother fed him to stem the tide of barely digested goop. Her growing boy needed it after all. And today, his luck took a turn for the worse.

Ronald Billius Weasley woke up with the feeling of sticky hair. His pillow was awash with a rather sticky dark colored mess that drove all sleepiness away the moment he tried to bury his face in it. Apparently his pet rat Scabbers who shared his bed had developed some diarrhea of its own. And had expelled his…er…liquid droppings on the pillow Ron slept on. And it still wasn't dry.

"BLOODY HELL!"

However, opening your mouth when your face was still covered in liquid rat shit, not to mention pressed against a pillow covered in that stuff was not the best of ideas, the old and repeatedly recycled pillow cover not absorbing a drop of the goop that covered it. So it was that Ronald Billius Weasley managed to achieve projectile vomiting before having tasted a single drop of alcohol. And it was into the very pillow his face was still pressed against.

"BLAAARGURGLE"

Above in the rafters, Aurora the former house elf cackled maniacally. Her good deed of the day done, she disappeared back to her mistress.

Nobody tried to get at the mistress! Nobody!

XXX

In a dark and lightless room, in an army base that isn't really important:

"OOOH! SHINY!"

"Did you hear anything Sir?"

"Stop daydreaming! That dust isn't going to clean itself up!"

XXX

Harry perched on the roof of a modern day skyscraper, specifically the one known as One Canada Square. It was late at night and he just squatted down on the roof without a care. He had no real need to be here, and he wasn't really a caped crusader for justice, so he himself wasn't really sure why he was up here. However, he had received a note, and the manner of its arrival had all but identified its sender. After all, very few people would send a note that basically floated in the air above his head, surrounded by a cloud of pink glitter and a large paper heart with a revolver on it. When the note said that its sender was "anonymous", Harry thought back a minute to the odd appearance of the note.

Defying laws of gravity?

Semi girly and colorfully loud decorations?

A picture of a very familiar revolver?

Total dismissal of the idea that the above points were not exactly shouting anonymous?

Yes, there was obviously a large pool of people who could have sent it.

Riiiiight.

"Harry!"

Harry sighed. So much for the one in how many trillion chances that the sender was somebody else other than Granger. Well, at least the lack of horns and tail meant it was not her "friend" either.

"Why am I here?"

Yes, stick to business. That was the way to go. Then he might not be pulled into the reluctant shenanigans that he spent so much time talking her out off. That's right; there would be no "becoming Superheroes", no "Starlight Breaker", no "Xanatos Gambits", and no "Unlimited Blade Works". And definitely no "Testing the Wave Motion Guns"… some of those made him shudder just from their names.

Hermione turned serious. At that moment, he realized that she was wearing a pink Princess Leia outfit complete with that otherwise ridiculous looking hairstyle. And she was twirling around that _super revolver of awesomness +5 _in her right hand, while floating at more than 200m above ground level. He shuddered. Hermione looked amused.

"Back again Harry? Excellent! We have to discuss your minion."

Harry blinked. Beneath his helmet, his brain temporarily snapped out of reality while he processed the latest in Granger Insanity©.

"I don't have a bloody minion!"

Predictably, she waved it off. She also absent mindedly shot a high flying bird (or maybe a bat? Considering the hour…) that exploded into gore.

"Sure you do. He's in your dungeon! Like a proper Gimp!"

She folded her arms and nodded resolutely, as if that was the end of that. Harry growled.

"He's a bloody prisoner for Kami's sake!"

She shook her head and shook her finger under at him.

"No no. He's your minion. I even went through his head to make sure of it. Sure there was a bit of screaming and a whole lot of staring and drooling, but he is officially your minion! Now you have your own Alfred Pennyworth!"

"Who?"

"You know? Jeeves? Jarvis? Walter Dornez? Sebastian Michealis? Watari? Hayate? Alfred Pennyworth? Butler?...works for the main guy?"

Harry felt the growing headache that was the principal side effect of dealing with his occasionally over friendly acquaintance.

"Never mind that! About the other thing you said…."

Hermione leaned forward. With her costume and her folded hands, the act might have been a lot more distracting if both he and she had finished puberty. In Harry's warped and fractured head, a voice cried out in pain and was drowned out by a tsunami of reason.

"Yeeeesss?"

"Are you telling me, that you took my prisoner and turned him into my minion?"

Hermione poked his forehead.

XXX

Everything was grainy and monochrome, like a 60's horror film. A hanging light bulb illuminated a struggling man strapped naked to a raised steel operating table. A strategically placed strap ensured that nothing untoward was showing.

A stained lab coat wearing doctor stepped forward. He(she?) was short, masked and gloved. He was also grinning, a horribly wide manic grin that would not have been out of place on Orochimaru. A pair of large spectacles completed the mad scientist look. Distorted opera music started playing in the background.

The doctor advanced forward and plunged his suddenly blackened hand into the terrified, screaming man's skull. The doctor's laughter, patient's screams and the unidentifiable music, they rose in an orgy of agony and ecstasy that drowned out everything, even thoughts.

And then, when Harry finally thought he was going deaf, silence fell. The doctor retreated to the darkness and the patient hung limply in his restraints, his eyes open, unseeing and yet staring right at him in silent accusation.

XXX

Harry shook his head as the vision passed. Hopefully, his decision to hold off on dealing with the man would not make the Russian totally useless after that disturbing event.

"Is that all you came here to tell me? That my dungeon is now a vegetable cellar?"

Hermione shrugged, twirling in mid air with a manic smile.

"Wheeeeeeeeee!"

She paused in mid air and reached behind her, pulling out a long rectangular case from thin air.

"I know you just bought those guns but have this!"

A crate followed, slamming into the floor next to him, creaking in protest.

"And bullets! Lots of bullets! See, you didn't come here for nothing. You got a bright shiny gun from me! Oooh! Shiny!"

Harry groaned. He did not need the headache. On the other hand, the seemingly brand new L96 with all the accessories was an excellent bribe for climbing up more than 200m vertically on a building for a meeting with HER.

"So am I going to be called to some other place like this again?"

Hermione shrugged again.

"Just once more I'm afraid. We have to have a chat sometime before September. There are things you will have to know. And you can know them only once you know what you know then."

Harry blinked. For just a moment she had been normal.

Hermione smiled sadly, all evidence of her previous insanity having vanished.

"You will get it soon Harry. It will all be clear soon anyway. Farewell!"

And she vanished.

Harry put his helmeted head into his gloved hands and groaned. This was going to be trouble he could tell.

XXX

Harry felt at the wood, concentrating on the shape and texture. The rifle stock had seen a lot of wear. But that was all right. The barrel and the rest of the metal parts had been more or less fine. Even the rifling had comparably less wear on it. The world war era Mosin Nagant was a beautiful piece of engineering. The receiver markings indicated that it was made in 1944. The weapons had seen combat, having then gone into storage a few years after manufacture. The Russians had a small notebook that indicated the location of some warehouse where the rifle had been taken by the drug runners. Unfortunately, they had not been kind in taking the preservative off the stock, having almost scraped a lot of the wood off harshly. Aware as he was of world war two history, he knew just how many men a single rifle could have killed. Unfortunately, the rifle was enough for his purposes. It was not capable of taking the sealing that he wanted. The thing was just too worn for the accuracy he desired. And even sealing couldn't make this rifle and its siblings more accurate than it was.

On the other hand, the 7.62 caliber L96 that the demented girl had given him was nearly bringing sparkles into his eye. He was willing to deface the otherwise pristine rifle with seals. A sharp ended metal wire, blood-ink solution and a very patient clone. This rifle would be his masterpiece. By the time he was finished with it, this thing would be able to block a lightsaber! Well, everything up to a lightsaber anyway. But it's the thought that counts. And overkill. That counts too. The extra dozens of magazines and the crate full of straw packed bullets helped in that regard.

He did wonder where she got the damn thing to begin with though.

XXX

Vassily Titov was once a loyal soviet soldier. Later, he was more of a self employed mercenary, working with other former soviet soldiers in the most ancient of pursuits, making money. Why did he do it? Without speaking for the others, he himself desired to make enough to retire from war. Or that was what he told himself.

He was a particular creature who had a secret. He was a wizard. Except that as far as wizards went, he was a unique fairly odd wizard. His birth was in the midst of some remarkable circumstances. On September 29 1957, the Kyshtym disaster took place. Inadequate protective measures produced a large cloud of radioactive material that delivered high amounts of radiation into the surrounding area.

Vassily's parents were poor jobless civilians who had long forgotten their heritage of Imperial Russian combat wizards. His parents were the children off a group of allied magical troops who had fled west to escape the chaos that the Ninja war had left the capital in. In one generation, they had lost any knowledge they could have used to defend themselves. In one generation, families whose members could have stood in direct combat with Albus Dumbledore, if for just a while, were reduced to fearful and pitiful peasants fleeing an enemy that had long forgotten them.

Vassily's parents were thus somewhat settled in the village of Satlykovo in the Ural mountains when they had conceived their child. The news was a happy one and brought joy to their life of privations. And with their new child on the way, both expectant parents cheerfully threw themselves into work, saving their meager earnings for when the family would get larger. And then the unpredictable happened. With their lives spent in the open in whatever work could be had, the radiation quickly took root. Their unused and untrained magic sought to combat that which threatened their lives, and that of the unborn son.

It took two weeks before the village was completely evacuated, by which time, the two were extremely sick, more than their neighbors. Vassily Titov was born January 12, 1958, to a dying mother who perished seventy one minutes after the punishing ordeal. His father, without the burden of having to live for an unborn son, unlike the mother had been dead for two weeks. The soviet hospitals may not have been the best, but their staff members were spirited people who mourned the loving couple, cut down in their prime.

Vassily Titov grew up in an orphanage in what was once known unofficially called Tankograd, the home of T-34 battle tank production in the great patriotic war. He grew up like most orphans, unloved and searching for purpose. When he reached the minimum age possible, he enlisted. The circumstances of his birth however ensured that he was not able to train himself in magic as he should. Also, he had been damaged in a manner, ensuring that he was unable to wield a focus. But internal magic was within his grasp. And he found himself using it to become the better soldier.

In an ironic twist of fate, he found himself assigned to the 65th Motor Rifle Division stationed next to the very city he had grown up in, the very city hated. He spent a few years doing his duty before he was sent by his commander into Spetsnaz. Brutal training that killed quite a few people had forged him into a fine soldier. And then battle hardened him. And then he found love.

The locally based KGB officer was a witch, a powerful yet poorly trained one who taught him some of the very few tricks she knew. She was also a ruthless, black hearted bitch who spent the next two years using him and his skills before destroying him. He was devastated. He had lost what had slowly become his reason for living. So what if he had a couple of million dollars worth in an ex KGB bank account? It was not the same as a reason to live.

He was broken. He no longer had the proper mindset of a Special Forces group. He had lost that edge that separated a good soldier from the excellent one. So he was packed off and sent to Moscow, because whatever his current state, before his fall he was an excellent soldier, and he still had those skills.

A seemingly long time later, he awoke to find that his unit had been sacrificed in a power play. A coup was in the works, one that eventually would fail but a coup none the less. And to move some people into the proper places, he found himself discharged quietly along with his current comrades. They fled in almost disgrace, their fates an afterthought to those in power. But all was not lost. Their motherland did not want them? That was fine. They had their own ideas on how to survive in the new world. He followed. With the aid of some similarly aggrieved people from other services, they set out to make their own path. What did he care about how he would die, when he had given up life as a lie?

They robbed a few arms dumps and more for supplies. Then, with some discrete use of stolen money to bribe the proper people, they "stole" a 150m long bulk carrier. They made their way through the ocean, a few former KGB agents knowing enough to ensure their uninterrupted travel. Eventually, they had set up the London operation within the space of mere months, something he suspected was because the Russians were swept into someone else's operation. The local aid was suspicious enough. But he kept quiet. His friends did not know that he had lost his will to live. He was just surviving on the day to day.

When he had walked into that room seeing nothing but slaughter, he gave up. He really didn't care about living, and he doubted they would torture him for information he did not have, so it would be interesting to see what would happen to him. How would they kill him he wondered? But with the passage of time came the realization that he had been forgotten. He was thankful he was given cigarettes to smoke. And he wondered why he was being treated relatively fairly.

By the time his thoughts rose to worry about his fate, Hermione played with his head and now he didn't worry all that much about anything. But then, he had also found a reason to live.

XXX

Albus Dumbledore flicked through the pages with a sigh. He was on the verge of strangling Fudge with his own two hands. In the beginning it had been amusing and a bit flattering, being called up to resolve the minister's doubts. Now it was just plain annoying. The man had become unhinged. The stress, a lot of it self-created had turned the once average politician into a paranoid wreck. Unfortunately, he was still clear headed enough to ensure his ministerial position. It was unfortunate, but it meant that the whole government had slowed to a crawl. The only good thing was that because Mr. Malfoy had continued to remain secluded in his Wiltshire Manor, he was not using the chaos to put the not so dead Dark Lords cause into action. The man refused to meet even with Severus, which was troublesome.

Still, none of that would change his quest to understand more on whatever was happening east. The Arab states were complaining in whispers about the cessation of trade with the eastern territories. The token Japanese contingent in the ICW had vanished. Something had happened and he didn't even know what the situation was before that something had happened!

Dumbledore closed the travelogue of an ancient Arab squib and popped a lemon drop into his mouth. He didn't know why, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was important. The feeling, it said that if he didn't keep an eye out, his world would suffer. Shadows fell against the windows of his office. After the light of day, night must surely come to pass.

XXX

Draco looked over his father's hidden space with a discerning eye. It was here somewhere, the item that he would use. He paused briefly to give his father's Death Eater Regalia a reverent look before continuing on. A body of a muggle lay shackled to the wall, permanently preserved in that state for over a hundred years from when it had been hit with a particularly nasty dark spell. His father had once told him that the once seventeen year old girl was still alive in there, unable to die, yet unable to live. Certainly, that body looked as alive as it had before she was cursed. It was a harsh reminder of the past of this room, and Draco shuddered a bit. He shook his head. No, he could not afford to be squeamish about things. He was his father's son, a Slytherin of the highest order. He was after all, planning to do much worse.

It took another hour before he found it. It was a box, a very old and powerful box. The black wood that made up its sides oozed a mist of evil, a black smoky trail that indicated just how taxed the box was at keeping its contents undetectable.

The Dark Lords weapon was an enchanted object of such high power that just using it alone could cleanse Hogwarts of its filth. That was what his father had said three years ago, the words of an indulgent father reiterating just why the dark lord favored him. His father had not given him reasons, but he had showed him the evidence.

And this was his trump card. He had put off his quest to kill the ninja long enough. No foreign child could defeat a weapon of a Dark Lord, assassin or not. Yes, he would use the weapon, kill off the ninja and return his father to the powerful man he had been before all this.

XXX

It took a clone seven minutes to carve the seal into a bullet. Some simple mathematics and a specification and he had calculated the velocity change required. Simply put he had created a seal that would be primed when the bullet it was on was fired, and exploded when it hit something solid. It was a marvelous piece of engineering. With it, he now had exploding bullets, stable pistol rounds that exploded only on the high pressure impact of a gunshot. And his fellow clones worked at a similar rate. Yet another clone slowly and wearily loaded the new bullets methodically into 17 round Glock magazines.

The sealing arts had changed the once ordinary pistols into very powerful weapons. The Glocks 17, with their primarily polymer frames easily accommodated the chakra seals, making them practically unbreakable. More seals and he had eliminated any possibility of damage or fouling. A little more work and he had created the "gate" which activated the exploding capability of the bullets passing through the muzzle. A series of finely carved seals acted as a minor silencer, creating a small buffer that reduced the initial loud report from the muzzle area. Yes, this was indeed a work of art.

Harry, who was watching the clones work, had a feeling he would need it of course. Hermione was cheerful at the worst of times. She acted like a five year old on a perpetual sugar rush. So this ominous change of demeanor meant nothing good for him or anyone. He thought back to the days before Hogwarts almost nostalgically, that small window between the chaos of magical education and the horror of the Dursleys before they became decent. It was a happy time.

Harry took the two guns, some of the better maintained examples he had seized that day in the Christmas Day Massacre. The original users had been kind enough to at least clean them, unlike some weapons he had retrieved that day. With his Russian haul, he was also modifying two Stechkin APS pistols, which fired the more plentiful for him 9x18 Makarov rounds, in a similar manner. Unfortunately, the completely metal unit required a fair bit more experimentation before he committed to an array that could fit the small area of a pistol, as opposed to the gargantuan surface of a rifle. He was experimenting on small bits of sheet metal for now. For now, he would stick to the Glocks, which he found ok enough. Besides, he did not need automatic fire for the moment. When he did, the other pair would be waiting. Certainly, there was that awesomeness that came only from a pair of pistols firing exploding bullets.

Mind you, there were a lot of differences between the seal to explode a 9x19mm and a 9x18mm round. One was more conical while the other was spherical. This affected the placing of the seal since the geometry of the surfaces were different. Ironically, the latter had the simpler seal for the same purpose. It's the problem when transitioning from roll able, yet flat paper to actually curved surfaces. You had to adjust for the variation in curvature, which made for distorted kanji.

He began his ritual to head out. He put on his armor, a whole twenty seconds worth with chakra strings, holstered his weapons and headed out of his manor. He had a car to purchase.

His new acquisition was a Mitsubishi L200, a two door pickup that had been on the market for a couple of years. At the moment, a Jaguar XJS was still an extremely recognizable vehicle that attracted plenty of attention. A pickup on the other hand was usually ignored, whether it was a new model or old. So he had ordered one. The black painted vehicle was his today and was relatively cheap, so he didn't care much. A little tinkering would be enough to increase its speed and power. And it was a far easier way of carrying cargo that he wasn't going to be able to seal in plain sight with or without his illusions.

XXX

Takeda was once again strolling down the streets of London when he was accosted by an automobile horn. Staring at the vehicle, he was startled to see the visage of a man who was last seen attacking his pupil.

"Skywalker?"

The man nodded, long dark hair in a ponytail emotionless red eyes with black specs, long lines on his face indicative of a life of hardship, and most importantly of all, a high collared coat that had a few stylized red clouds. The man motioned to his passenger seat and he nodded. Yes, this was Skywalker. It seemed to him, that the mysterious fellow was in one of his other personalities.

"We shall have tea. I know a place."

Ten minutes later, he was in one of the many small cafés that dotted the area, and sipping tea.

"Skywalker san, how are you?"

That emotionless face was staring at him, the tomoe in his eyes were spinning lazily, almost resembling a mitsudomoe in its shape. It was a fairly unique pattern. It was also the slightest bit unsettling.

"Tell me Takeda san, what is the great problem here?"

Takeda tilted his head. What an oddly specific question. And uncomfortably close to things he would have preferred to not think about.

"That is a sudden question Skywalker. What is that you wish to know about?"

Skywalker hadn't moved. It was as if he was talking without even moving his lips. All he did was sip tea. He was getting flashbacks to that first meeting back in his Knockturn shop

"A few days ago, I received portents of a great danger to me and the few I care about. And I find it curious that you have not sought to warn me of anything that had needed the presence of your organization in this land."

Takeda sighed.

"Originally, we were sent here to deal with a higher tier demon, a particularly destructive creature that by all means should have vaporized the whole country and more. However, we found no trace of it and Britain still exists, so it's not doing what it should had it existed. Our ship was destroyed for some reason and very few escaped. The rest of us remained here while our superiors dealt with the fallout."

Skywalker actually raised an eyebrow.

"You would not happen to mean that display over Surrey? It was an interesting event for sure."

Takeda leaned forward, all other thoughts gone from his mind.

"You actually saw it? Could you share what you saw?""

Skywalker nodded. He then proceeded to succinctly describe his side. Namely, he was passing through the park, he felt and saw the explosion, saw the lifeboats launch, saw the ship rotate in mid air two times before slowly limping to towards the direction of the Straits of Dover. This was more or less, a confirmation of what the survivors had reported. Unfortunately, the ships extremely impressive security had rendered whatever had happened before the very destructive blast an educated guess. It seemed he would have to leave things here.

"I see."

He pondered for the next minute or so until Skywalker cleared his throat.

"Ah yes. In any case, what I can say is that, there may or may not be a powerful SS class demon 'World Eater' somewhere on the isles. It is purportedly capable of annihilating this country in an instant. Although, if you have any idea about a large fox with nine tails, that would be helpful."

Since the news about the demon that might obliterate the country had not even gotten a twitch, Takeda was understandably surprised when Skywalker not only snorted hot tea through his nose, but also proceeded to choke on it.

"K-Kyuubi? You're asking about the Kyuubi?!"

Takeda was a professional, so his own demeanor was quickly in control, as was Skywalker's.

"Yes, any information you can provide would be useful."

Skywalker waved his hand, causing the spilt tea to lift off his clothes and skin and disappear. He then spoke as if he was reciting a report.

"The Kyuubi is a class of demon known as a bijuu, tailed beast. It is a malicious and inhuman entity whose tails are said to level mountains and cause tsunamis. There are nine individual bijuu, each resembling aspects of a creature with the appropriate number of tails. The Kyuubi no Kitsune is as the name suggests, the nine tailed fox, it is an intelligent creature, but does not care about humans at all. If you or I were to face the creature, rest assured that we will not live to tell about it. I must admit, that the kyuubi terrifies me more than the thought of your World Eater demon."

Takeda was speechless, but not for long.

"And have you seen it?"

Skywalker gave a sardonic grin.

"It haunts my nightmares."

There was nothing to be said for that. Takeda would not know it, but Skywalker was telling the truth. He had at one point suffered from nightmares of facing the beast, most of them when he had to deal with unstable Hermione and her "Watch me rape the laws of Physics!" attitude. If she had known about it, she might have just turned into the damned beast to see his reaction. And unlike Naruto, he had a very good sense of when exactly he should curl up into a fetal position and wait to die. He was also thankful that he trusted that initial instinct that said 'don't tickle that sleeping dragon'.

The "talk" continued for about another ten minutes. They discussed their neutrality further, and Takeda requested any assistance possible under a certain set of circumstances, and also a share of the information they had figured out about the Russians. He also got a request for part of a task. After that, Skywalker disappeared, looking oddly thoughtful and resigned. Takeda did not know what to make of it so he said nothing. They were not friends. So there was no personal interaction between them. But having an inkling of how capable the man was, he found himself extremely worried about this new unknown demon, which had a Japanese name to begin with!

XXX

Algernon McArthur was a member of the House of Commons. A former businessman, he had barged his way into politics fifteen years ago. A product of that first fruitful push was evident in that he was once again reelected to his old seat in the election held a short while ago on 9th April. He was by all means a fully fledged member of the 51st Parliament of the United Kingdom, elected from Kieghley, West Yorkshire.

His mansion, on the outer periphery of the constituency was a relatively modest place. He was a man desiring wealth, and needless splurging on luxury was not something he was fond of. But making money was not something he had many scruples about. After all, the fifty two year old was originally educated and practiced as a lawyer.

So when a bunch of Russians had offered a cut of profits, if he used his influence to aid their drug trafficking? He accepted. After making sure that this was not some kind of trick of course. He did not want to undermine England. Just add a few recreational drugs into it. What was the harm right? He did get paid after all.

Then sometime in July, the man began to behave oddly. He stopped his parties and his meetings. He took to drinking with a vengeance. He behaved in a rude and angry manner. It was as if, over the space of a week the man had gone insane. At the end of the week he committed suicide. Investigation over the next few weeks would reveal a set of undeclared Cayman Island bank accounts, several large money transfers into them last seven years and nothing significant left in his name. It had all been transferred out of his accounts in that one week. Detailed investigation would reveal that the money went into an account flagged to be having an undefined connection with the KGB. The patriot was branded a spy, one who apparently ticked off his masters. Some whispered that it had been MI5.

In the shadows of his own mansion, Harry Potter smirked. When the wicked lose their wealth, it is all too hard to feel sorry for them. And having an ex KGB use account courtesy of his minion went a long way to guiding an investigation on the right track. It also gave him a cool 200 million pounds (or about 375 million dollars at 1992 exchange rates) just from that corrupt politicians accounts. Takeda would be jealous he guessed. He had after all accomplished the death, made it a message and executed it as a suicide all in one, and still got paid for it. He sarcastically mused that if all MPs got paid like that, he might consider it as a new day job.

The other assassinations were executed by the Japanese over the course of two days. They were high profile, public and utterly unsolvable. Professional hits, complete with discarded one time use revolvers, kidnapping and firing squad executions and finally sniper hits from over six hundred meters, none of their assets touched. It was like a complex puzzle that British law enforcement would get a picture of only weeks later. All had links to a now vanished heroin operation. It would be suspected that they were a collective message, much the same as the Christmas day massacre. The public apology for "Taking out the Trash" helped to relieve the over committed security apparatus, worn out by the constant blows to their system. But it only gave chills to those who could see in their troubled minds a bigger picture.

XXX

Vassily Titov, wearing a waistcoat, white shirt, black pants and a clear glass monocle approached his master with a tray laden with tea. Gloved hands elegantly poured the black concoction into a cup before presenting the tea to his master.

"Anything else master?"

Harry waved him off. Now _this_ was tea!

"Nothing for now V. Come back in an hour. There are some particulars about your skills I would like to know."

"Yes master."

He left the room quietly.

XXX

"How would you like a battleship?"

Boris was apparently in a good mood. Harry had barely sat down in that well worn office chair when he had that bombshell dropped on him. Harry, for once here in person raised an eyebrow.

"And why would I need such a vessel?"

Boris laughed. He was way too cheerful. He was actually wearing a bright white suit that belied any possible negativity.

"I do not know tovarisch. But you seem like just the man to use one!"

Harry raised his other eyebrow.

"You do not seem to be right in the mind…should I come another day?"

Boris laughed again.

"Forgive me my friend. I am unusually cheerful today. Did you know that some of my competition has _disappeared_ from the country?"

Boris was barely suppressing his laughter. Harry shook his head slowly, wondering where this was going. Boris leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially.

"It's true. Some newly exiled fools sought to set up smuggling ring in city. And before I can say a thing, they are wiped out to the man! Even that ship of theirs, sunk in the Indian Ocean! Without my lifting a finger! So yes tovarisch, I am very happy!"

Harry nodded. What a coincidence. It was time to test something. He subtly readied himself for a slaughter if he was wrong, but went ahead anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"Did you know that the leader was a pedophile? He suffered for it."

Boris looked surprised.

"It was you?"

Harry nodded smugly.

"Yes, the London branch of theirs. They were disciplined men, but not anything I could not handle. And on another note, I am sorry to say, I will not be buying ammunition from you for a while."

Boris grinned in that horrible manner of his.

"That is fortunate then. And since you have destroyed my enemies, I will not begrudge loss of business! BWA HA HA!"

The Russian composed himself. His guards continued to mutter cheerfully, as vigilant as ever.

"So what did you need tovarisch?"

"A barrel for an Arctic Warfare L96 rifle. Mine seems to have been…repurposed. It would be unfortunate for me to be associated with a stolen weapon."

The Russian nodded, stroking his beard.

"Yes yes. I can see that. Yuri! You know what to do!"

A guard left the room.

"While that is taken care of, is there anything I can do for you tovarisch?"

Harry suddenly saw his female acquaintance of the demented kind materialize behind the man.

"The ship Harry! The ship! Buy the ship!"

She disappeared.

He opened his mouth and paused when he heard a whisper about a ship. It looked like he was not getting out of this.

"Tell me about that ship…"

Boris grinned. It seemed nothing could extinguish his mood.

"Yes yes! The ship. Ahem. Do you know my friend that a variety of navies around the world are buying and selling ships all the time?"

Harry nodded. It was obvious.

"Excellent. Now, you must realize most of them end up sunk as targets or sold for scrap! But me, I would like to see if anybody could give these beautiful ships a new home. It is amazing the kind of things you can use ex navy battleships for!"

Harry shook his head.

"Are you telling me you have a battleship for sale?"

"But of course! They may call it a cruiser, but the Sverdlov class as they call it is a battleship at heart! Turrets like that don't grow on trees! Do you want one?"

"I'm afraid not. I'd prefer something smaller."

"But of course! Mind you, there are British and American produced ships available, but those will cost both nuts and a dick if you want one!"

Harry nodded. The former Soviet Union was getting a disturbing reputation of being unable to keep its stuff in sight. Everything from toilet paper to biological warfare agents seemed to be disappearing from their storage. Corruption seemed to be the name of the game.

"So what have you got?"

"The navy is decommissioning few large vessels this year and the last. A few calls, some cash and you will have operation vessel in this country next year."

"Which ships are those?"

"I have a couple on file; a Sverdlov class vessel _Murmansk_, a few Kashin class destroyers, a couple of Burevestnik class frigates, many Grisha class corvettes for a start. I get the feeling the others will not interest you. Mother Russia has shrunk, and so has her proud navy! Some of us old hands feel that it is a bad thing, for such fine boats to end up as scrap metal. So we shall sell them at profit! And on that note tell me if you need tanks or planes?"

Harry shook his head. He had known that having a country collapse like Russia did was bad, but this was ridiculous!

Again Hermione popped up and whispered from behind him. He didn't make it all out, but he heard enough.

"Kashin class, I have a feeling that it is what I want."

A long and ridiculous conversation which quickly included French wine, international telephone calls and a wire transfer later, Harry was unofficially the new owner of the Kashin class destroyer _Slavny,_ (decommissioned on 24th of June, 1991) saving it from its fate of being scrapped. At a hundred million dollars, it was relatively cheap and also included a refit package to keep it afloat. It was completely assured that the Russian government would see very little of the money, but he would most assuredly get that ship. By June of next year, he would be able to take the ship out on his own. Corruption had its perks.

XXX

It was considerably later than last time that Harry even considered going to Diagon Alley. With the characteristic ghost town syndrome, he had been extremely grateful to have plenty of space to shop in. the fact that the new defense professor, a Gilderoy Lockhart had been doing a book signing in the middle of the rush period was an excellent motivation for avoiding the alley then.

There was something not right about that man. He had found the whole thing a little excessive. What kind of defense professor forced the entire school to buy many of his books as a textbook anyway? And that was before he saw a poster of the man.

Still, the year seemed promising enough. He needed to see if his system was compatible with runes as existed in the wizarding world. Sure they were slow to make, required actual understanding and intelligence and were shunned by wizards who were proponents of powerful spells as a measure of true strength. But all that were bright examples of why he should check them out. He had already bought a whole set of books to occupy his clones. Now he just needed to figure out how the two meshed.

XXX

XXX

"Granger, we meet again."

Hermione was this time wearing an elaborate metal armor. If he had any idea, he might have recognized it as the attire of an Inquisitor of the Imperium of Man. As he did not know this and did not pay attention to the authentic looking Godwyn-De'az Pattern Boltgun in its holster, he did not suffer the nightmares that such a sight might have otherwise induced in him.

Harry shook his head and looked around him once again. This time they were on the tower of London, a historic place that despite its reputation had very few executions to its name. Considering he had suddenly been taken from testing his exploding bullets to sitting in this place, he was a bit mystified and wary.

Hermione sat down beside him, resting her chin on armored fists.

"Do you know what power is?" she asked softly.

"I'll tell you. Power is the ability of an entity to reject the laws set in place. Political power is the ability to ignore laws set forth by man. Physical power is the ability to discard the conditions set forth by weakness. And true power is the ability to reject the rules of reality."

Harry was curious and apprehensive. Something that was not uncommon with her in the mix.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"its because you cannot hope to move forward without knowing this. Without the spark of understanding of that concept, you cannot progress further along your evolution. You are after all completely ignoring a part of your ability to defy reality."

"W-What?"

Tell me Harry, do you have magic?"

Harry frowned.

"Of course I do!"

"Then why do you not use it?"

Hermione shook her head sadly. She spoke in that sad melancholy way, as if speaking of a profound loss. It was a voice that touched him in ways he was not comfortable with. This change from that silly manner of hers, it was too soon, too sudden for him to accommodate.

"It's sad really. You are a facet of destiny, and you shall remain one until you fulfill it. Your very limits can be defined only by yourself. So why do you squander it all away?"

"What are you talking about?! Make some sense woman!"

Not girl, never a simple silly girl.

"Do you think it is normal what you do? Your ability to use chakra? Your entirely separate but still extraordinary capacity for magic? Your instinct and use of fuuinjutsu? Wake up Harry! This is not a joke. You cannot afford to play your little games anymore. There will be harder opponents, greater enemies, impossible scenarios. And all you can think off are playing with those ninja! There's a reason you need that ship!"

Harry crushed the urge to hurt her. He could not hurt her. And for some reason he found that he could not refute her. He wished he could do either. So instead he snapped at her.

"What do you think I should do then?"

"You should be better! But then, you have forced my hand already, and my interference cannot continue. But before I leave, I will give you something. It is as some say a gift and a curse. I will use my own ability to as you say 'rape the laws of nature' and change you while I still can."

Harry quickly grew alarmed. Why was she becoming like this? Was this the end?

"Oh, nothing like that Harry. I must do this and then I can forget about this for a while. Aurora can keep up pretenses at home and Hogwarts. She is closer to the me who should have been than I am."

Klaxons were ringing in his head.

"Keep still Harry. Wouldn't want me to mess this up!"

Then she took a breath and breathed into an open palm. A black mist blew from her mouth into her palm. Instead of dissipating, it was swept up into a spinning globe, a storm in a palm, a soundless Rasengan. It scared the hell out of him.

When she had blown enough of the mist into the pitch black ball you couldn't tell was rotating, she swung her hand and slammed it into his chest.

It hurt.

Pain flooded his system, yet he didn't scream.

Because screaming meant that you could control your lungs a bit yet he couldn't.

Why did it hurt so much? Why?

He blacked out.

XXX

"Master are you awake?"

Harry groaned and opened his eyes.

"What happened?"

His butler, who he had renamed V stood straight and answered.

"You appeared like this five minutes ago sir. You were out of your armor and you seemed to be unconscious. There were no visible injuries and you seemed to waking up naturally."

Harry nodded.

Hermione had done something. There was something in him now. He could feel "it", a cold sensation that pumped through his veins. She had done something and he didn't know why. And if she was to be believed, she wasn't even going to be there next year.

When Harry slept though, he found her again.

He asked her why. And she said but one thing.

"Just remember Harry…"

(A blond haired boy writes into a worn looking black diary.)

"…some things…"

(A blonde haired girl with radish earrings dances in her Hogwarts uniform.)

"…are simply…."

(A blonde man in garish robes admires his sparkling teeth in a mirror.)

"…fated to happen."

XXX

A/N: How was that? You can never tell how people will react till after, but I'm hoping for some positive feedback on this one. A lot of references to previous chapters and other outside universes, who belong to their respective owners. A bit of foreshadowing and some more useless tidbits of history.

It's a slightly shorter chapter and unusually quick given my posting history, hope no one minds.

Hermione the walking dues ex machina has left. For a while. I wonder if anyone will actually complain, since she is actually less popular than some of the OCs if the reviews are believed.

And yes, I've included exploding bullets. Curse you reviewer who put the idea into the forefront of my mind! That's you kenegi!

It has the first official mention of any sort of romance in this story. Only, it's a behind the scenes tale of betrayal and heartbreak, one half is missing, and the other has been brainwashed. Sorry?

Anyone else seeing that harry's breadwinning job is actually a thief? It seems to have written itself here curiously enough.

I wonder if anyone can guess what the "picture" all the assassinations will point to? it's a very interesting scenario for me. Digital cookie if you get it!

As always, more reviews are always welcome. And even if my reply pms are late, I do read them all. As always, your feedback is appreciated. They stoke the fires of YOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUTH! Or fanfiction as the case maybe…

Here's my legacy stats, until the last chapter, for those interested in it. Thanks for all the support!

Words 123,147

Chaps 16

Reviews 936

Views 423,876

C2s 185

Favs 1,844

Alerts 1,766


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the privately owned characters and/or concepts that are floating around this fic. Nuff said.

XXX

In an unnamed Russian city in an unnamed yard, work was about to begin on a once abandoned hull. The people were called on to toil upon a vessel that was once a part of a glorious navy. She had been underwater after sinking at her pier. No more, for the ship had found a new lease of life and needed to be returned to her full functionality. A ship that had been left to rust and eventually become scrap was about to get a new lease of life. Still, getting up the partially cannibalized vessel was going to be a bit of a headache, but what's life without some challenges.

The sheer amount of money going into the project was practically unheard of. Assured of profit, a lot of equipment had been already been ordered and was scheduled to arrive and be fitted in the next few months as they worked to bring the ship up to and beyond her past potential. The _Slavny_ would sail once more, a second lease of life to her nearly 25 years of loyal service to the Soviet Navy. Kavochkin, the engineer in charge rubbed his hands in glee. Yes, he would enjoy it. And with a budget that might as well be unlimited next to the comparatively impoverished soviet budgets, he had no compunctions with installing some systems that might have made those whiny pricks in Moscow cry about the cost if they were the ones paying for it. Like crew quarters that _didn't_ make grown men cry. Besides, replacing those guns and updating those radars meant that he was well and truly in his happy place. There may be work to be done, but that was ok. The important bit was to plan and make sure that the hull was up to proper standards. But that was what those other people were coming down for. For now he could simply strip the ship to her frame.

It was good to be king of the build. He only wanted to know what kind of people wanted a ship painted black! But then, it was probably fated that Boris would get a customer more insane than he was.

"Dimitri! Wake up and get back to work! The technicians from Zorya-Mashproekt are here! They're here about the turbines! "

XXX

Breathe in, breathe out. Take a moment then slip into the train. It was meaningless action, but it gave her something to do. The mistress was gone. She had left her alone in this world with naught but a promise to return soon. However, with their form of immortality and consequently unique perception of time, "soon" might be anything from a year to a couple of centuries. How would she survive that much time without purpose?

She had abandoned her past, her body and her mind just so that her soul would be useful to her mistress. And now, all that was left were memories and a wand. That was all that she had to remember her. As for the wand, the mistress had imbibed it with her power and identity as she had used it in class. It was now her only connection to the one she called Mistress. And it was what let her assume that identity of "Hermione Jane Granger" on this planet.

So what if she had given a similar connection to someone else temporarily? She didn't want it. That person was not like her mistress. No, that person was a controlled automaton who showed none of the emotions he really felt. Not like her mistress, with her wild exuberance, great power and supreme nonchalance. Yes, her mistress was truly a beautiful creature. Consumed by her thoughts, Aurora crashed spectacularly against the very person she wanted to avoid.

XXX

Harry stepped back and shook his head. He had to remember that just because he had a screen of clones guarding him, he was not safe from things they wouldn't bother trying to attack. And since Aurora was the constant companion of the force of nature that was Granger, he sighed and braced himself for a headache. He did not have to wait long.

"Right, you're here. It means I don't have to worry about finding you. Mistress has given me a list of things for you to do. That ship you're buying will need some upgrades. You can use the library to help for the runes, nut the rest is all you. Think of it this way, you're finally getting to use all that fluid dynamics and materials science you learned before going to magic school! And in Christmas, you'll be getting yourself a bigger ship to do the whole thing again. It's all in the scroll."

Harry did not bother to analyze her words for too long. He had latched on to just one part of the statement.

"What do you mean bigger ship?! I didn't need one in the first place!"

Aurora shot him a look so expressive that he could almost hear her say "You're an idiot."

"Well, this one is the _Slavny_ right? It's going to be your prototype, and when you succeed at it, the mistress will take it off your hands. But you still need a ship, so your minion has got some extra orders, ones you agreed to by the way, i.e. to get a destroyer and to make some money. Aren't you glad he knows how to use the basics of chakra now?"

Harry rubbed his forehead and fought the urge to cry. Why did he have to be the one to suffer in this manner? And his trusted minion was off to go do things to benefit him, or so she said. Under veritaserum, the butler's orders, as given by Granger had seemed innocent enough; secure ship for Harry by going to Russia; make some money by various means by going to South America for a business opportunity. It was all so simple and clear cut. He walked away with a migraine and a weary sigh. At least he wouldn't be complaining about boredom.

Still, simply being away from that girl had made her servant much more focused and humanlike in her behavior, even if her words meant that Granger's touch lingered upon his universe. And that "touch" had an enforcer to boot. Well, at least he was assured that she wasn't completely crazy, always a positive in his book.

He opened the scroll and rolled it down to see what she had for him. The three foot scroll was packed full of Grangers handwriting, a thin scrawl designed to squeeze the maximum information into a space and still be barely legible. Thankfully, as a ninja, he had better than usual eyesight so he did not bother complaining. Still, there was a lot of stuff "to do" in there. He had caught sight of titles like "increasing conventional endurance", "passive counter measures" and even "propulsion via flow boundary manipulation."

The fact that they were all under the title "chakra theory" did not increase his confidence. He was getting the idea that he had barely scratched the surface of what seals could do.

XXX

Draco Malfoy walked into his compartment with a smile. His hair was slicked back and there was a lot of effort put into making his robes immaculate. This was going to be a good year. He was a Slytherin. He had his plan and he knew exactly what he had to do. He was very confident that he would be able to succeed in his self appointed mission. He just had to get rid of those ninja and all would be well. He took out his secret weapon and began to write into it.

"Hello Tom…"

XXX

Aurora stepped into a compartment with two girls she didn't recognize. They were obviously first years. Since they didn't seem to mind her presence in the split second they looked up, she went and sat down opposite them, after putting her truck in the rack, a feat of strength that not many could appreciate.

Of the two, the blonde was reading a magazine upside down and the red haired one was chattering about some future wedding she would be having. She wouldn't have bothered about them save for one tiny detail. She had red hair. And it wasn't just any red hair, but a red hair that had been consistently showing up in the last four siblings of the Weasley family that she had already met in school. Aurora narrowed her eyes. She then plastered on a smile and introduced herself.

"Hi! I'm Hermione Granger. Are you first years?"

The two nodded and smiled a bit weakly, obviously unsure as to why she was talking to them. It was not like every senior they met were as friendly.

"Yes, I'm Ginny Weasley. This is my friend Luna Lovegood. It's nice to meet you!"

The blonde, looked up from her book with an odd smile and looked at her.

"Your head is crawling with wrackspurts hmmm?"

The former house elf looked at her deadpan.

"I have no idea what they are or even if I care whether about I am infected with them. You're not exactly normal are you?"

Ginny flinched in response to the blunt statement. But even as she opened her mouth, probably to protest the insult, Aurora grinned manically.

"I think you and I will get along just fine!"

Yes, this year won't be so bad after all.

XXX

The Hogwarts express may have been relatively peaceful this year, but outside of it the earth spun, people schemed and plotted and people lived and died. In London, newspapers continued to report the curious case of the executed spy ring. MI5 had been scrambled to see exactly what had been compromised in the government and if anybody was left to compromise it further. It was an entirely forgettable time for many people.

Meanwhile, MI6 analysts tried to make sense of some particularly strange transactions that had happened between British and foreign banks, possibly in relation to that spy ring. At Scotland Yard, Inspector Wilkinson tried to pursue even more unlikely leads to find the culprits of his massacre.

Of course, other people were also moving forward. A ceasefire ended the suspiciously large number of unexplained ship disappearances that occurred between Japan and China. An unusual shape floated high above this area, reminding the other more "usual" flying ships that there was indeed a new power in the area.

The year was just beginning, but there was no telling how it would be ending.

XXX

V was a person who had a plan. He had been remade by that woman from a meaningless existence to an entity with purpose. And SHE had given him some orders on what to do this first year to make himself useful, and occupy himself when Harry wasn't home that is. That was why he was on the phone with somebody setting up his "business trip". He had been assigned a set of tasks, after which he would be free of any obligations to HER.

Over the next two months, he would be helping his master and as a side effect the rest of humanity in a big way. That his master would be profiting from the operation was of course the whole point of the exercise. He had orders within plans, and as his master had given the authorization, he would be able to use his old and new powers to assist his master as needed. But first, he had to do something to make some parts of his journey more profitable. He entered the store with a grimace. There was way too much dust here. But then, Ollivander was said to be a very odd fellow.

"I haven't seen you before, but it's always good to meet new customers!"

XXX

The first night at Hogwarts was as ever a dull, monotonous exercise peppered with the cheers of unthinking sheep. The sorting was a dull and repetitive event marked by children sitting on a stool and willingly having a (probably lice infested) thousand year old hat mind rape and then sort the child into one of four houses based on personality traits that the child would abandon after their first potions or history class. Harry was quite cynical at twelve years old.

It did not escape his notice that over at the Gryffindor table Aurora, who was now posing as the absent (hopefully for good?) Hermione Granger was staring at her house mate Ron Weasley with an air of calculated malice. He pitied that boy, he really did. The apprentice was no less troublesome than the teacher. After ending that line of thought before it gave him a headache, he looked at the head table.

Professor Snape looked grumpy as always. The man was practically engulfed in black flames of annoyance. He tilted his head and squinted a bit, and was hit by an epiphany. Severus Snape looked like Uchiha Itachi! Wasn't that just a revelation? With those stress lines, perpetual frown, black hair, all he needed were a headband, contacts and some conditioner and the image would be perfect. Really, all he needed was a heart breaking back story complete with loyalty, betrayal, and a desire to die for his sins and the picture was complete.

The headmaster looked about as grumpy as his potions professor. Even if his beard hid it, Harry was experienced enough to detect the hint of a massive frown. Come to think of it, everyone but that blond idiot was frowning. McGonagall had pursed her lips so severely that they had disappeared. Sprout looked like her Venomous Tentacular had all died off. Hagrid actually looked irritated, difficult to do by all accounts, mostly because his facial hair hid normal displays of negative emotions.

On the other hand, the new and latest defense professor, Gilderoy Lockhart was grinning like a loon. He was dressed in very garish and loud robes that were obviously expensive and must have been whatever passed for the height of magical fashion. An odd magical effect made his teeth sparkle, much like Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. All in all, he looked like what a Victorian era model should have looked like. It was impossible to naturally look that….well, perfect wasn't the word he would use, unlike a good fraction of the hormonal female student population. Still, he might be a competent fellow for all he knew. Strong people tended to indulge in their eccentricities, and this one could very well be the magical equivalent of Maito Gai. It was best to reserve judgment until he knew more.

Food came and went quickly. Chatter blocked out the noise of a thousand ill mannered gluttons. There were no extra announcements like last year, just the expected ones about the forest and Filch. So why was there a sense of impending doom?

XXX

Tetsuya was marching with his fellow Hufflepuffs when he suddenly felt a sharp burst of killing intent. The unusual sensation, in the school of all things, caused him to stumble. He looked around and found an armored figure hanging from the ceiling motioning towards a side door. So he took his time straightening out his clothes while his companions passed by. When he was alone, he slunk into the class room alongside the man, who could only be Skywalker. It appeared they were already dipping into that alliance of theirs.

"What do you need?"

"I would like to know about the sorceress _Chang_."

"I'll write it up. It's too late to worry about it today."

"I shall wait for you then. Tomorrow, eighteen hundred hours. I shall be at the library entrance."

"I shall see you there."

Tetsuya shook his head and headed for the Hufflepuff common room. He just needed to sleep. Whatever his orders were, it wasn't wise to attempt to help that man while he was swaying on his feet.

The next day he wrote out all he knew and his conclusions about the girl. Skywalker had read it all with great interest but didn't say anything. They nodded to each other and were gone. Tetsuya gave a sigh of relief. Who knew what kind of antics he could have been dragged into by that man?

The three had not interacted after that one meeting in the library and forest. Had the other two stopped caring? Where was Skywalker in this mess anyway? Why was he at school? Was he protecting a student? Was he a student? If so, had he been there last year or the year before that? Where did he sleep? Was last year's troll incident his doing? So many questions, and he was unlikely to get answers. He glumly went back to his meditation.

XXX

Ginny Weasley fell into her bed with not a lot of grace. She was tired but elated. She was in Hogwarts! So what if she wasn't in Gryffindor? She was in Ravenclaw! Where Harry Potter was! And she had just over seven years to become Mrs. Harry Potter! Yes, her plan, conceived when she was much younger was now on track. Sure she had to change from Gryffindor to Ravenclaw. But if it had Harry in it, it couldn't be bad. No, it definitely wasn't bad. Maybe it would even stop her mother from going on about OWLs and NEWTs all the time. Yes, this really was for the best.

She did not realize that at the moment, she was giggling and squirming uncontrollably. It was doubtful she would have cared all that much either.

Luna looked at her friend and shook her head. Those wrackspurts were well and truly entrenched there. It was such a shame. At least she had another friend now, even if she was in another house.

In a room not far from her, Cho Chang smirked as she prepared for sleep. It would be so interesting to see if that ninja cracked. He was looking wary this year. It might actually be worth the effort to get him to crack. If only she could see that Skywalker too. That fellow actually knew how to pull off aloof and mysterious. She pouted.

"Oh well, something is bound to make this year interesting! "

XXX

Aurora had barely entered the common room when she was subjected to one of the more common prank items of the wizarding world. Unlike its user though, Hermione Granger aka Aurora had no appreciation for the "beauty" of the dungbomb that had covered her in the smelly concoction. She just locked her murderous eyes onto the culprit and began to throw out _Reducto_s like they were going out of fashion. Running for his life, Ron Weasley briefly wondered if all this was really was worth throwing that dungbomb. Then he was nearly clipped by a spell that obliterated somebody's homework and all rational thought abandoned him.

While Ron was running around like a headless chicken, the Gryffindor common room was beginning to look like a warzone. A lot of the furniture was demolished and the walls were dotted with small craters where her spells hit. It was worrying because the walls were specifically warded to dissipate the emotionally charged and volatile spells hurled by immature and uncontrolled children.

"What in Morgana's name is going on here?!"

The dungbomb covered Hermione Granger fired one last spell in the general direction of the white skinned Weasley before she turned to her head of house. It was to be noted that her still plentiful rage was giving her an aura of murderous intent and her brown eyes had a corona of green light that made her power all too clear. So it was understandable that even the unflappable McGonagall took a half step back before she rallied herself.

"Professor! I can't take it anymore! If you don't change my house right now, I'll find a way to murder that idiot in my sleep!"

"Ms. Granger! What on earth are you talking about?"

One of the students, who had been very busy getting out of Hermione's spells spoke up.

"Professor? Ronald threw a dungbomb at her when she got into the common room. And then she-"

The fourth year took a good look at the halo of power around the girl, the very menacing snarl and the choking motions she was making at the red haired boy and decided to change her interpretation of events from "she snapped". The pause was not unnoticed.

"-she unleashed her_ righteous_ fury in the pursuit of her justified vengeance against that criminal boy! The damage wasbecausehedidnotstaystill!"

McGonagall sighed and looked around the room.

"And everyone here agrees with Mr. Glendon?"

There was a synchronized and most resolute nod, even from Ron.

McGonagall pinched her nose and muttered under her breath.

"Very well then. Mr. Weasley, a week of detention with Mr. Filch. Hopefully this will teach you to think more carefully before you decide to blatantly attack your classmates. Ms. Granger, you will have a detention with me tomorrow. You must learn to control your destructive impulses even when somebody attacks you in this manner. As for your other request, are you sure you want to change your house? A resorting does not guarantee a spot in the house you want. And as it is I'm not too sure you cannot solve this problem between yourself."

Aurora nodded resolutely. She was very much set on this course. In fact, she could see herself strangling that ginger haired idiot in his sleep right now. And even McGonagall could not ignore the unstable grin and the clawing motions her hand was making.

"I see. We might as well sort it now before your schedules have been given to you. Come with me."

Aurora followed the professor as she walked the halls, climbing stairs and simply walking until she reached the gargoyle that was the headmaster's office gatekeeper. Getting in was simple enough with the password and the headmaster at his desk, writing on parchment with a long feathered quill.

McGonagall told her to stay there at the doorway and walked to Dumbledore, whispering furiously. The two exchanged words, before the headmaster finally motioning her forward. Once she was seated, McGonagall quietly sat the sorting hat on her head. It gave a whimper before shouting "RAVENCLAW!" They glanced at the hat for a moment but shrugged it off. The hat was not a very chatty accessory at the best of times.

"Let's head for the Ravenclaw dorms then. Hopefully this will have been solved by morning. Albus, please take care of the rolls, I'll go tell Filius that his flock has a new member."

As she left the office, Aurora grinned widely. It had all gone according to plan. Except for when she snapped. But that had worked out, so she was happy.

Above her, a shadow clone sighed. Sure, he didn't know what had happened in that office, but the change in color from red to blue was a very big clue. He dispersed because he honestly had no idea how to tell his creator that _she_ was in his house now.

XXX

All the classes remained much the same, but as always, defense was the worst of the lot. This was the consensus reached by Ravenclaw. DADA with its various teachers always made for a different environment. This year was no different, in that the classes were very different.

Lockhart was an idiot; there were no illusions (here) about that fact. He didn't know how to teach, he didn't cast a single spell in class, and his lessons involved impromptu skits that had more in common with bad comedy than actual education. As such, he was the biggest disappointment they had known. He was even worse than Quirrel, because that man had at least assigned useful books. The glorified travelogues read like badly written adventure/detective novels. And they were bad ones at that. Some of the spells didn't exist. Lockhart didn't have the physique for some of his "exploits". There were timeline errors. And for all his books and bluster, he could not actually explain just how he got his awards which were officially awarded to him. Some were heard to joke that Lockhart got his Order of The Merlin third class for the "great deed" of adding galleons to (the previous minister of magic) Millicent Bagnold's vault.

Harry on his part kept up a constant genjutsu that made it all but impossible for the professor to acknowledge that he existed. In fact, save for rolls, the professor was not allowed to think much about the Boy-Who-Lived at all. The susceptibility to the otherwise minor genjutsu also displayed a frightening lack of any sort of the mental focus the man ought to have mustered. All told it was a pitiful and disappointing result.

XXX

Aurora grinned widely. This idea to move to Ravenclaw may have been the best thing she could have thought of. Nott only was she away from a source of aggravation, she had two munchkins of her own to nurture and corrupt. Those two first years had quickly taken to her, even as the house _tried_ to rally against them. The Ravenclaw females had possessed the ridiculous notion that they were extraordinarily intelligent creatures. Her scores and class ability had soon stripped them of the idea. They did not take kindly to it.

They also seemed to have the idea that the two less than usual first years were odd and perfect targets for bullying. The fact that they associated with the eccentric Gryffindor transfer just made them seem like more targetable.

The problem with rallying a house against the "disciples" of the new Gryffindor transfer was that they were quickly introduced to her idea of revenge. Several Ravenclaw girls had thought it fun to steal from and humiliate the two new girls, Luna and Ginny, who they began to call loony and… well, they hadn't yet found a suitably horrible and annoying nickname for Ginny. That quickly stopped when the perpetrators quickly discovered that their bras were being owled to Gilderoy Lockhart at breakfast.

And while many a girl may have had fantasies involving them, Lockhart and lacy underwear, having the items publically mailed to the man was not exactly a thing to be proud of, especially when the items in question had name tags on them that the professor had no problem reciting at full volume. An anonymous message had delivered a warning against further mistreatment. Unfortunately, some girls failed to heed the warning. The next day, flying panties bombarded the DADA professor, who was by now slowly getting the idea that publically being happy about receiving the underwear of underage and impressionable girls was not exactly helping his image. When the furiously blushing girls saw the subtle gestures she used (a wide manic grin and slash across the throat with a thumb) they quickly got the message. After all, nobody wanted to mess with the mad genius (and yes, they did call her that, sometimes) who aced everything and had enough power to repeatedly punch holes in the warded walls of a Hogwarts common room.

From then on peace reigned, especially after the last completely dense person to defiantly test the warning ended up having her robes transformed while she was in the great hall. It did not help that the highly provocative outfit better suited for "personal activities" was uncomfortably tight for the sixth year in question. After that, they were all left alone. The fact that they hung out with the other eccentric of the house (Potter) was something they decided to collectively ignore. Granger had spent all of last year with the boy, so poking that dragon was best left to the suicidal.

XXX

Harry himself was making progress. After having hit a metaphorical ceiling in his ideas, he was finally pursuing new avenues of research. Night after night, clones worked on seals that were sometimes as large as twelve feet in diameter, trying to combine concepts from earlier attempts or make entirely new ones. Aurora had said something that had lit a fire inside him. He was buying a ship, a big ship and he planned to use it as a mobile base of sorts. Besides, his butler was taking care of a lot of details. And he trusted his brand new minion because the butler had sworn his loyalty with veritaserum and a magical oath. He wasn't sure how to go beyond that, but he had made a note to set aside time to learn what he could about neurobiology and brainwashing. Genjutsu could be very useful in that sort of thing. Of course, that would be in his long term plans. He had no intention of attempting it until he had settled his other plans. V had his instructions and he would benefit most usefully. Besides, having spare cash is not something to be afraid of, or so they say.

His new seals were works of art. It had been a while since his seals had been used for something completely new. Like a man who crawled, walked and finally ran, he had reached a stage where his basics were set in stone and it was higher order execution that was an issue. His seals had to do a variety of things. They had to protect and power a 144m (or 472 feet) long ship. It had weapons and a whole set of sensory equipment that had to be incorporated. Not to mention, it was one huge chunk of metal that floated. The scroll Aurora had given him was the most insane challenge he could think of. Turn the once lethal Missile Destroyer into something he could move around in without too much cost or energy. To do that, he had to accomplish a variety of things. He had to remove the ships dependence on fuel. He had to completely eliminate any further wear on any component. He had to remove the dependence on manpower that forced the ship to have a standard complement of 320 men. He also had to remove the ship's property of being identified by any non visual sensors and identifying methodology, because nobody liked the idea of a private party with a guided missile destroyer, especially an armed guided missile destroyer.

So he had a lot of things to do and little time. He was making progress though. He was testing theories, gaining ideas and eliminating failed methods. It helped he had more than two hundred clones collaborating on the project. With chakra absorption seals, they would last a while, but when they dispersed, the headache was enormous. It was why his weekends were now spent unconscious as the thousands of hours of memories rammed into his brain. It was almost nostalgic, the massive use of clones, the mad science and the dreams of tomorrow…

So when he received an owl from his butler, he wasn't paying too much attention. It had simply said "going to motherland, will check up on boat."

What could he possibly get up to?

XXX

V walked through the city with a grim smile. Travel to Russia had become easier, but with his British passport, he faced some hostility from the heart of the land beyond the iron curtain. There was no way he would have been let through that easily by the former communist staff. On the other hand, some gestures and code words to the local junior intelligence officer and he was now untouchable in Moscow. He was FSK after all, as far as they knew. It had been a pleasant surprise to note that he was officially still part of the KGB when the organization had been dissolved. As such, his old access codes were still active and let him "retrieve" his identity papers, the one that said he was KGB all but name. He turned to his mission next.

In the land that his past was mired in, there was plenty that he once held a grudge over. SHE had simply plunged an arm into his soul and suddenly he was free. He had no more doubts, no more hesitation. He may be a servant, but in that service laid the ultimate freedom. He no longer had a reason to die. And it wouldn't matter if he was killed. He was bound to his master. And as long as the master was there to serve, the servant could not die. It would not do for the hand to be useless to the owner.

His first task was a minor sort of revenge. After that, he could move on without that squeaking voice in the back of his skull. He wondered if that voice was HER doing. Whatever the cause, it was the reason he was now sitting in front of one of the most rotten men he had the displeasure to ever meet.

"Ivan!" he greeted. The pudgy man sitting in front of him in the dingy office was a pale imitation of the ruthless wraith like colonel his lover had taken her orders from. When he had been recruited, Ivan had been his handler as much as Ivan had been hers. "Special" operatives were valuable resources, and were "repurposed" to the KGB whenever possible. So Ivan had tasked one of his agents to seduce him and recruit him into KGB. She succeeded marvelously. For three years, he had been all but a puppet at her whims, until she had torn him down and cut him loose. He was devastated at the time and had only sunk further into his hell when he learned that she had been killed a few weeks later.

But afterwards, another KGB agent had shown up to tell him the truth. Everything she had done, she had done at the orders of Ivan, who promptly had killed her off when she finally admitted that after three years and dutifully sending the man into depression, she really had fallen for him. V had not been amused when the despair inducing memory had been dusted off and returned to the forefront of his mind.

"You are looking well!"

That was a lie, but it didn't matter. He would soon have what he came for anyway. This man had left him a shell of a human. And he had then all but killed her without remorse. V might have been too far gone when it had actually happened, but he was here to return the favor and then some. After all, it was not proper to leave this piece of gutter trash in the realm of the living. But Ivan would serve his master first, before the corrupt slob was sent to whatever hell awaited godless men like them.

Their discussion took a few hours, with Ivan growing ever uneasy over the fact that this was not the same pitiful wreck he had tossed away. So it was that Ivan finally signaled his waiting guards. They came in through the two doors to the room, from behind the Russian and from behind himself. But it did not matter. Seven men were nothing considering how much his skills had returned from HER touch. The three men behind Ivan were shot down even as he turned to deal with the four behind him. Three bullets had turned their chests into chunks of bloody meat. He turned around and punched the throat of the nearest guard with his other hand, crushing it. The choking man fell backwards, his flailing limbs bringing down his friends with him. Assault rifles were useless unless you could point them at your enemy. V smiled grimly as he shot all four with the pistol, leaving headless corpses and blood spattered walls. Ivan was still grinning. His brain had frozen at seeing the carnage. Apparently he had been out of the game for too long if this was the result. That was OK. It was for idiots like these that the veritaserum was for.

V walked out of the office with a smile. The Makarov might not be a glamorous weapon, but a bullet is still a bullet, especially when they explode. The former colonel had finally died begging and his vengeance was satisfied. But more importantly, his first task had been accomplished. The USSR may have dissolved, but its resources still lay untapped, much like the destroyer his master had purchased. And slush funds in tax havens were a particularly juicy resource. They would be drained by evening. And the intelligence dossiers on American operations in Columbia were much appreciated.

Moscow quickly passed. His next journey took a few flights. But he got there in two days of harsh travel. His government issued FSK identification allowed him to use official means of travel. His demeanor and openly displayed weapon made him a very unapproachable man. He used that to its fullest.

He stood before the hull with a grimace. It looked like hell. Considering that she had spent many a month underwater, it was expected. Still, a rusted hull was a poor foundation for a ship. He focused on his power and pointed a wand in that direction. He had to focus on exactly what he needed, for the hull to be repaired to beyond excellent, but to retain an appearance of being freshly repaired. The spell came easily, too easily. He suspected that SHE had a hand in it. He shivered slightly, but welcomed the chance to help his master's work. He wondered if the boost was because this ship was supposedly going to HER.

A few memory spells and the engineer in charge very happy about the "nighttime crew from outside who had quickly restored the hull but would not be available further." The technical genius could now focus on the important bits. Like the installation of the mainframe and the large displays in the bridge.

XXX

The first sign that something was wrong were the screams. Everybody ran to the scene, abandoning their paths and converging around the pool of water those who could see the small clearing in the centre saw teachers trying to remove Argus Filch from a first year. The man seemed to be trying to strangle the child. Away from him, a small figure lay hanging motionless from the wall, the much reviled Mrs. Norris. Harry had chosen to sleep in, and missed most of it, but from the ceiling, a clone had arrived at the scene once the scream had come. There simply hadn't been a reason to go to that area before. So he was surprised to see the effect of a petrified organism. It was a very curious thing.

The next few weeks were filled with rumors and hysteria. It was even said that at one point Binns, the otherwise utterly boring history teacher had broken off his never-ending lecture on goblin rebellions to give a brief speech on the "Chamber of Secrets" that this "monster" had come from.

People quickly became irrational as panic set in. Groups of people moved in small mobs with their wands out. People speculated on the cause of the petrified cat, and the identity of the heir who was mentioned. Slytherin closed ranks as they were regarded with increasing suspicion. Then again, it would have to be a very clever or very stupid person to make the "You're next mudbloods !" right after that dramatic scene.

Harry barely noticed any of this. He worked on his seals, worked on runes and kept up on his schoolwork. Life at the moment was one big workday. Nothing could turn him from his work, not the rampaging Acromantula, the centaur patrols or even that untamed dragon could stop him from playing with his massive scribbles out in the forest. So what was a mythical monster from a mythical section of the castle going to do to stop him from his experiments? Well, maybe kill him of course, but he tried not to think about such obscure possibilities.

XXX

The jungle was a harsh and unforgiving place. Insects, reptiles and mammals of all kinds roamed amidst the vegetation waiting for a chance to sink teeth or fang into the unsuspecting and unwary. That was all right, these animals had sense. He was not a cowering villager from some poor tribal settlement trying to eke out an existence even as loggers cut out the forest around his house. No, he was a bona fide predator in service to another bigger predator. His movements were confident, unhurried and purposeful. He had no reason to fear the forest. He may have been of the mountains, but a hunter is at home wherever prey may reside. And when the prey is human, the hunter has a damn big home. There was a reason he was wearing a suit in the middle of the jungle.

V looked around the place carefully. He had been in Russia a few days ago and now he was on the hunt of the near untouchable Cali cartel, because by whatever quirk of fate, Ivan had the most intelligence on them. And intelligence was ever his most important commodity. It was unfortunate for them that they were now in his sights. As few as four months ago, they may have annihilated him if he did what he was doing now, but now he could only pity them. They were only men carrying weapons. He _was_ the weapon. The drug factory was up ahead. It was a relatively large facility that produced cocaine in quite unhygienic conditions; mass produced drugs for people to abuse and die from. It was time for his good deed of the day.

Two hours later, the factory burned brightly. There were only about forty men all told at that location. The guards seemed to be content with sitting at the top of trees and shooting anyone who got too close. After he had dodged a dozen bullets, he had become irritated and had taken an AK 74 and began to shoot the canopy. A few screams and thuds marked the deaths of the first few. After that, it was much smoother.

He had gotten what he came for, in other words names and locations. There was little else to take from here. The workers were poor uneducated simpletons who barely knew how to switch a light bulb on, and had nothing that could be considered valuable intelligence. He killed them cleanly and without pain, because even if he had left them alive their bosses would have executed them on principle. Next step would be fairly less violent, but only in that there would be far less explosions. He jumped into a pickup he didn't sabotage and sped down the crude supply road. The sooner he got this done the better.

His next few weeks were a blur of travel interspersed with death. At every stop in the Cali cartels' chain of command, people died, but not before they spilled their guts. Veritaserum was indeed a valuable resource. At a three drop dosage, his two liters were a lasting commodity. Still, he did not do too much. He only killed about sixty people all told, and interrogated about half of them. People were very willing to talk when their armored body guards were blown up by a silly looking pistol. However, his ability to superhumanly dodge their fire was also a completely terrifying thing. Pistols couldn't hit him if he knew exactly where the barrel was pointing.

On Halloween, V was back safely on British soil, having acquired about 400 million dollars US of former cartel money. It would not make a dent in their operations, but locations of farms, factories and arsenals were mailed to the US consulate before he left. The Cali cartel would not survive for long. If they did, their rivals would make short work of them. The sad part was that 400 million was a drop in the bucket, it was the systematic destruction of mid to top level cartel members that would be the undoing of the cartel, but the survivors would be richer than ever before.

But what was done was done. Now came part two of his busy schedule. He had another ship to check on. A butler's work is never done.

XXX

Harry looked over the seal with a grin. The seal was not big, but it could be transferred to the object much like the evil sealing method that Kakashi had used on the curse seal. The transfer of a seal from its surface of conception, it was something that ranked just below the creation of a seal without any pre prepared sealing materials whatsoever, as the Yondaime Hokage had demonstrated when he set up a masterpiece of sealing in mere seconds, one that could confine the kyuubi itself.

The seal construct had to be divorced from the surface it was constructed on and moved without damaging its structure to another surface through contact. This also involved compression and layering, turning his twelve foot diameter arrays into something much smaller. It was an important milestone to his sealing abilities.

What this meant was that some of his larger arrays could now be applied to objects the seal could not directly be written on. Not only did this mean his metal frame Stechkins could now all but invulnerable, his pieces of plastic armor could now be rendered bulletproof as well. Of course, the most important ramification was that he did not need to painstakingly paint the seals and runes he needed directly onto the ship. He could safely use a large portable area surface, say a tarp for the preparation and then simply transfer the seal onto the ship and activate it at the same time. It meant he did not need to linger onsite and chance the discovery of the painstaking work that would have been required. Now he just needed to worry about the chakra cost of applying the seals on a large ship like that.

Propulsion had been taken care of. His seals would provide a frictionless boundary around the ship wherever water met hull. With this, he could achieve chakra only propulsion by manipulating the attractive/repulsive forces at the interface. He could achieve his top speed and then some with a fraction of the output. It also meant that he could theoretically propel the ship on chakra alone if necessary, of course controlling it dynamically was a work in progress.

Defense was also coming along nicely. Absorption arrays could absorb any stresses on the frame that exceeded a certain fraction of the metals yield stress. An entirely different surface based seal absorbed any electromagnetic radiation beyond visible light that was incident upon a surface, making it invisible to any form of active detection system other than keeping your eyes peeled. Or it would once he read a few more physics books and made it less energy intensive than it currently was, but he suspected that it was merely a question of greater understanding of the subject. More interesting were the runes.

His runes work came in two forms, energy batteries and energy circuits. The very impressive thing about runes was their capacity in certain constructs to hold raw energy indefinitely, including. Enchantments depended on this after all. And he had a seal that could absorb chakra and even magic. By combining the two systems, he had made an array which could absorb and store energy. By combining multiple seal arrays, he had created an array which would absorb kinetic and electromagnetic energy and then convert it somewhat inefficiently to raw energy which would be stored. He did have to adjust it until the temperatures matched, because an array that absorbed all energy quickly became an icicle as it sucked all heat it was in contact with. That was not a pretty end for a clone.

He was mass producing his work on tarps that he had owl ordered from his butler (he did wonder why they had Spanish price tags on them). Now all he had to do was use the deck plans that Boris had mailed him and he would be able to get the runic "wiring" all planned out. With everything properly planned, he could have the ship properly set up within a few hours of first seeing it.

It was in the middle of his increasingly successful sealing work that he got the first hint that he ought to be concerned about Slytherin's monster.

XXX

V looked at the politician with a grimace. The USSR had fallen just a few years ago, so scum like the one he was sitting in front of was always going to cling on until they were removed kicking and screaming. Thankfully, he had some advantages in this "negotiation." The man had just finished laughing at him when he spoke again.

"So what do you else do you want Podpolkovnik. Titov? You may be FSK, but you hold no power over me. And I doubt you can offer me anything to change my mind."

Apparently the fact that he was a big bad Lieutenant Colonel equivalent in the secret police did not seem to matter here. What mattered was cash or favors, as pointed out by the "offer me" comment. But that was all right, he had other means of getting there. After all, he had questioned and obliviated the man yesterday for just this very purpose.

"You are assuming, comrade Moldovan that I have to offer you something. You may find that unless you agree to my demands, you will soon find yourself living without the comforts of your current station. It has not been that long since I was a KGB 'special' operative."

The man paled at the special operative part (which was interesting in itself), but not as much as when V slid a sheet of paper across the table; it listed among other things several bank account numbers and their balances. It was exactly what his total liquid assets amounted to. Two names of mistresses that he was "entertaining" on the side were not exactly conducive for remaining scandal free. And any hint of weakness would be seized upon by his "friends", rivals enemies so thoroughly that comrade Moldovan would have wished he was eaten alive. So Yuri Moldovan folded quickly. Blackmail or not, it was already something that was in the pipeline, but what the FSK agent wanted was just to speed up the process quite a bit. Downsizing the navy was a continuing process, and removing an extra ship from the roster a few years before would only save them all money. Yes, the pitiful man rationalized, "This is only to my advantage."

V watched the man with a satisfied air. It was easy to blackmail someone into doing something that was already being done. Getting a ship decommissioned was not exactly hard work these days. Only the nature of the class of ship in question made it a problem. There were lots of people who would protest, but money was always going to be in short supply to maintain the "magnificent vessels of the Russian Navy." Already there was more than one ship which has being "overhauled" with no end to the process in sight. The decision to decommission and sell off an anti surface guided missile destroyer would be controversial, but the nation was still corrupt enough that it wouldn't matter. Besides, the 100 million dollar cash injection would remove any doubts in the minds of the detractors who mattered. Money always counted, even when you believed it shouldn't.

V had spent the last few days in the bowels of the Russian bureaucracy for exactly this moment. Bribing and threatening the right people for just this purpose. Moldovan was just the last obstacle that had to be dealt with. In this place, simply throwing money at a problem only meant you had thrown away your money. It was necessary to ensure that the right people got the "message" about the jobs they were expected to do, and the consequences for not doing it. The carrot was fine, but the stick was better.

So, he had abused his FSK credentials to waltz around the capital, the shipyard and everyplace in between, "preparing" the sluggish system for its tasks, either personally or through some very official phone calls. The leeway his FSK identity gave him was very ridiculously large, probably HER work, but he wasn't complaining..

Three days afterwards, the _Sovremenny_, was officially struck from the Russian navy and sold to "a Russian expatriate who wished to assist his beloved navy and remember his days in service of the motherland". A hundred million dollars was not a small amount, when it officially enters government coffers. Whatever their private bank balances in the Cayman Islands or Switzerland had, paying the government always made the corrupt bureaucrats happy about officially increasing their budgets, especially the ones so concerned with the navy's lack of funds.

V merely went to the yard housing the now privately owned vessel and cast some very powerful spells to make the mechanicals and structure a lot better than they should have been. Unfortunately, it wiped out the last of the reserves that SHE had given him. Something SHE probably intended when he thought about it. Still, his job was done for now and he could safely wait for the master to return for Christmas. With his impromptu assists and some creative negotiations, he had acquired for his master the most powerful acquisition yet. He tasked some otherwise useless bureaucrats to keep an eye on the two ships and went home. After all, Christmas was a time of celebration.

XXX

Harry winced at the memories with a grimace. He had been taking one of his few breaks when he had been hit with the memory. All he could say was that it was a unique death. The clone had seen the entirety of a really long snake crawling through the hallway where that cat had been attacked and had just seen the large poisonous yellow eyes when he simply lost cohesion. He had literally felt his life cease. What a powerful creature it must be, to disrupt a clone simply through eye to eye contact…

Harry wished that he didn't have to deal with this, but he had things to do and plans to advance. Dealing with a giant snake was not in his plans. But it seemed like he would have to. Aurora was certainly no help. When he had mentioned the snake, she had just said that he was the one meant to destroy their existence. "Them" not "it", in other words there was more than one entity at play. He simply posted more clones around, making sure not to let their sacrifices stop his efforts to develop his seals by Christmas.

XXX

Dimitry Kavochkin smiled as he drank the vodka. With an enormous crew and large amounts of money, he had succeeded in nearly all his aims. The ship was in excellent condition. The new electronics and several other systems that seemed to have been diverted for this build had astounded the man, until he heard that an old school FSK agent had been assigned to get this sale done as fast as possible. It was being sold to some buyer who did not care about anything beyond engineering perfection. Dimitry suspected it was a behind the scenes resale to some third world country who was leaning towards the west, and did not want official trade with Russia.

Hundred million dollars US was a large sum. The hulls of the _Kashin_ class that were sold to shipbreakers could not raise even half a million dollars for comparison. It was no wonder people were falling over themselves to fulfill that customer's every need. He himself had worked fanatically to get the thing ready. In fact, he could not believe just how much work had been done. The sunken cannibalized ship had been missing several components, all thankfully been documented, so replacing them was less difficult than it should have been. Despite the long period underwater, she looked better than new. And the old corroded gas turbines had been replaced by new more efficient ones that were far better than the worn and obsolete cold war units that had graced the ships engine room. Still, at the end of the day, one could not deny that one fact. She was ready to set sail! The vodka flowed. And there was much rejoicing.

XXX

Harry was yet again carefully adjusting his seals when it came again, that peculiar feeling of a clone dying in that manner, meeting the eyes of a very unique giant snake. He hated that he couldn't do anything about it yet and that he didn't know exactly where its lair was. His clones had been dying more frequently. That snake had seemingly adapted quickly to his clones spying and seemed to relish taking them out first. So far most clones had died by eye contact. Two had been bitten in two and dispersed. That snake had the teeth of a constrictor, save for two large fangs that were dripping venom. The thing had monstrous strength, incredible speed and could apparently dispel clones by looking into their eyes. It could also presumably petrify cats. And if the ghost in that bathroom was to be believed, it had killed a student fifty years ago. This was not one of his usual opponents.

Without an idea as to what exactly he had to deal with, he decided to do nothing. He simply had too much to do. V had kept up a regular correspondence full of little allusions that were the actual gist of what he had done. So phrasing like _checking up on his cousin's boat_, _collecting from the Columbian pharmacist_, and _shopping for a bigger boat_ would seem innocuous, but were full of meaning to him, and Aurora too if her giggles were any indication. He was beginning to dread going home for Christmas. On the other hand, he didn't want to be here with that snake if the shit hit the fan.

In an ironic twist of fate, the forbidden forest was now technically safer for him than the castle. It was a case of the devil you know, because the snake was a devil he didn't. And the spiders were always fun to kill. His puppet Sasori was especially useful here. The only hiccup was that his swords were actually beginning to show signs of wear, meaning that the seals he had used on them weren't as good as he had originally thought. But he had improved their design significantly for the ship's hull and so could use the lessons learnt for his next swords. His work never ended it seemed.

XXX

The submarine rose gracefully out of the water, the near black hull invisible in the choppy waters that foretold the coming of a North Sea gale. Even as she settled onto the water surface, the rough seas calmed around her, forming an island of calm amidst a sea that was slowly growing rougher.

The vessel was easily identified as a Russian design, Project 877, better known as the Kilo class to the western world. "Experts" would tell you that it was a diesel electric submarine which held a crew of more than fifty men, that it was capable of independent operations for a month and a half, that it had an operational depth of about 250 meters. And they would have been right, except for one small detail.

This was no ordinary submarine. It was a kilo class submarine only in external shape. Internally, it was a whole lot different. For one thing, it had never touched diesel fuel or batteries. It held no torpedoes or missiles. It did not have limits like 45 days. And it was manned by a mere twenty men. This was the _Tsunami_, Hakumei I-boat. It was a chunk of metal that could travel to the deepest depths and soar to the highest heights. But today it was doing neither of these things. It just floated on the surface. That was because, everything important was happening inside. In a dull lit control room, faces stared at screens calmly.

_"Set the scanners to seabed penetrating operations. Recalibrate all instruments for current ocean parameters. Compensate for endemic ecological noise."_

_"Yes captain! Equipment is set. Error is plus or minus 0.05 percent!"_

_"Transmit the first report to Kyoto."_

A minute later, a beep sounded in the silence.

_"We have confirmation! Message is received Sir!"_

_"Excellent! Dive to fifty meters and begin sweeping, the entire channel if we have to! I want every single piece of the Spirit Shadow recovered. It's time to find exactly how that ship was destroyed!"_

And just as silently as it rose, the submarine descended into the murky depths.

XXX

Albus Dumbledore looked over his office with a grimace.

He had done it. Fudge was finally free of his bout of insanity. And it had only taken a year. His ridiculous laws may not have had the touch of the experienced politician that was Lucius Malfoy, but it was certainly a product of some mind seeking to profit from the minister's paranoia and irrationality. He suspected that the minister was under some subtle spell, or maybe the dementors stationed in the ministry as "Security" had escalated that man's fears beyond simple reason. Whatever the case, he had finally settled down. So Albus was finally free to finally return to his real objectives, in other words, ensuring the permanent demise of Tom Riddle. It was not a pretty picture.

Tom was somewhere in the world, plotting and scheming his way back to corporeal form, at which point it would take a mighty effort to return to a semblance of peace. He really was too old for this sort of trouble.

As for the other end of the problem, he had no idea what to do about Harry, or rather he did not till now. His distractions had been costly. He had been forced to choose between resolving the sudden outbreak of barely hidden hostility between practically everyone, and the fulfillment of prophesy which would take _at least_ a couple of years. So he had put off thinking about it, but now he could ignore it no longer.

The opening of the chamber of secrets was an ominous portend. Nobody was petrified yet, in some bizarre display of good luck, yet the castle was uneasy, and the cat was a very damning piece of evidence. Last year, Tom had been content to stick to his goals, letting the children alone as he chased the elusive stone. But now, it seemed that he was willing to attack the inhabitants of the school itself, and that could not be allowed to continue. However, this was still a very vexing problem. How did the wraith manage to do this? Who did he possess this time? And why was he back in the school at all? There was nothing special this year that warranted the attention of the self obsessed wizard. Yet here he was. And wreaking havoc by the looks of it. It only meant one thing. That prophesy, made by Trelawney was coming to pass. It may not be tomorrow or a year from now, but the events that were foretold by forces beyond his comprehension were coming to pass. So he had to be ready to do his part to secure the future of his world, a world of peace and love, one that would hopefully avoid the formation of full-fledged dark lords. Twice within a century was _really_ unfortunate.

He examined his options. What he wanted, was a handle, a method in which he could insert himself into the life of the boy. From there, he could work at modifying their relationship until the eventual goals were met. And while it sounded and in practice was cold hearted, he did care for the boy and wished him a better life, but unfortunately, his wishes and the reality he could achieve were entirely different things. He gathered his thoughts, compiling the knowledge that he had at some point or the other made a note of as "later".

The boy was in Ravenclaw, a consummate researcher who spent a lot of time at the library. He was clever, a bit eccentric and spent time around the only person the Hogwarts grapevine outright called crazy. He had yet to do anything particularly brave, had yet to get a detention and was a source of frustrated pride for more than one teacher.

Minerva considered him to be a boy with a "slightly different mentality". Apparently, he was morbid and seemed to be unusually fascinated with sharp objects and living things. That beetle to button transfiguration that produced a miniature metal saw blade was proof enough.

Filius bragged about the boy. He had a good head for charms, but did not seem too interested in the subject. His spells tended to have volatile tendencies if he was absent minded, as he was prone to being. As a Ravenclaw, his grades were good, and he had not lost any points, even if he seemed unconcerned about gaining them.

Pomona was not much help. Harry was not a large concern for her, so she did not pay too much attention. Aurora was worse.

Severus was the mystery. One class with the boy and he had done a complete turnaround. He seemed almost afraid of the boy, having abandoned his vitriol for a certain unusual blankness whenever the name Potter was mentioned. The way he acted, one would think the boy's name was his personal dementor.

So considering this, how should he proceed? Past, present or future? His past was obviously his life before the night his parents were killed. The present was his education and anything else within the school. The future was the goals he was aiming to achieve. His thoughts turned to the invisibility cloak hidden away in his desk. Yes, that was a good start. The martyred parents seemed like a good place to start when approaching the orphan, if carefully handled. Christmas seemed like the ideal time to make inroads.

XXX

A/N: another chapter done. This one was written in the midst of my frustrated rewrites of my tth fic, so it may seem a bit more spy movie style than usual. But it provided me an excellent way to do a lot of explaining for stuff I ought to have before they are used. It always makes me a bit annoyed when people think of things that should have been added in a previous chapter and they suddenly insert "Oh, and X character did Y N chapters before so that's how X can do Z" into their latest chapter, so even at the cost of making the flow seem awkward and leaping further from the core of the story than ever before, I find myself compelled to add tidbits like this. That said, back to the main note.

Draco has the diary. He's using it much the same as GW did in cannon, but the lesser fixation of this Draco on Harry will have effects, maybe. The butler is running around doing oc things for an ooc boss, a lot of descriptions just mainly to test myself in this arena. And Granger is still gone, but her presence lingers in those she has touched. That's what I wanted to convey, bluntly at times. The large parts of seemingly useless text about Russia this ship that are as I said not relevant directly, but have minor effects, butterfly effect and all, and also shows a bit more of the world that everyone is living in.

GW, LL and HG are now in Ravenclaw. Convoluted for one of them, but it made sense in my head, not too sure about everyone else.

And yes, there's a reason I've dumped a bigger ship on harry for seemingly no particular reason. Though you'll see why a lot later, at which point I'll point back here when somebody asks questions.

Dumbledore finally gets his game in gear. The déjà vu of the chamber of secrets has returned him back to the over manipulative do gooder of sorts that canon dumbles is mostly portrayed as. Which means we will be seeing them dancing around each other soon. Not much on the original china that indirectly effects stuff. The sub will be around for a while, and we'll soon be seeing how harry interacts with all those strange ocs that I've been sprinkling everywhere.

Third year is how I'm significantly diverging from canon. Fair warning. Its also the point where I'm going to decide on whether I'm going to stick with adding stargate to the list of crossovers. In case you haven't gotten the hint yet, the "immortal emperor" = magically trapped parasitic stargate alien. That should clue you in to what my original purpose was there. I'm mentioning this because I have written so much in a ninja mindset that I'd almost forgotten the SG part I had planned for. If the response is positive, I'd like to brush up on the SG universe so as to apply it to the fic. If not, I'd continue with the same twisted web of half truths and biased perspectives that this universe is currently operating by. Focus will still be on harry as always.

That's it for now on Womgi TV. Stay tuned and as always, review, pm and however you wish to communicate with me. If you have questions, ask and I'll try my best to answer them. Not sure if I can respond to every comment though. Life's a real pain in the ass.

See ya! And REVIEW! Much appreciated.


End file.
